A Change of Scenery
by Romantique The Original
Summary: Raylan's inability to sleep reaches the breaking point.
1. Chapter 1

Title: A Change of Scenery (1/13)

Author: Romantique

Email: dolph1n

Classification: Raylan/Rachael Hurt/Comfort, Friendship

Rating: T for language

Summary: Raylan's inability to sleep reaches the breaking point. (Takes place after 'Fever Dreams' which is rated M for language and violence.)

Disclaimer: I wrote this fic immediately following the end of Season 3.

Legal: These characters do not belong to me. I'm just a fan and have not made a dime. Please email me to obtain permission to post.

"Good mornin', Sunshine," Art's voice bellowed artificially sweet and cheery.

It was much too early for his boss' loud volume and levity, so much so that Raylan Givens thought he might lose his breakfast ... which consisted of too many cups of coffee that were not doing their job.

Walking up to his legendary, yet _'pain-in-the-ass' _marshal, Chief Deputy Marshal Art Mullens cornered Raylan, as soon as he stepped off the elevator, late to work ... again. It was obvious Art had been waiting there for him to arrive.

"Don't tell me. Let me guess," Art placed his fingers over his forehead and closed his eyes, as if he was performing a psychic reading. He then opened his eyes, stared straight at Raylan and announced his channeled _'vision,'_ "You didn't get any sleep ... _again_ ... last night."

It didn't take psychic ability for Art to figure this one out, as the evidence was clear: Raylan looked like hell. He had bags and dark circles under his eyes. His normally smooth, controlled gait of a big game cat had slowed to that more resembling a garden slug. His hat was sitting on top of his head, askew, in a _'devil don't care'_ sort of a way.

"No, I didn't. At least not much," Raylan said in a low, gravelly voice. "And it wasn't for a lack of tryin'."

"Maybe that's your problem? You're tryin' _too hard_," Art suggested.

Attempting to garner a little sympathy, Raylan replied, "I've tried warm milk, bourbon, and sex ... separately and combined, and not in any particular order or on the same night."

"Did it help?" Art asked

"Nope. Nada," Raylan shook his head. "Don't tell me you got a better remedy?"

Everyone had their favorite sleep remedy and felt free to share them with Raylan these days, whether he wanted them to or not.

"I dunno," Art shrugged. "The bourbon and sex combo always works like a charm for me. The milk? Not so much. I'm lactose intolerant." He then patted his large tummy. "Gives me gas."

Raylan's expression changed into an offended squint, clearly too much information coming from his boss.

After a beat, Art added, "Maybe you should take a few days off? You know, get outta town."

"And go where?" Raylan asked in an irritated tone, obviously not open to the suggestion.

"Anywhere. Change of scenery," Art looked up at him. "Or you could always talk to the Department shrink. Maybe you need one of those sleep studies, where they wire you up and read your brain waves. I do know one thing."

Raylan had known Art long enough to know that he was going to hear the rest of this, whether he wanted to or not. So, he politely asked, "What's that?"

"They're _not_ gonna tell you to lose weight for your sleep apnea, like they did me," Art quipped, referring to Raylan's tall, thin, muscular build. The man didn't have an extra ounce of fat on him.

Raylan raised an eyebrow. Under his breath so as not be overheard, he skillfully deflected the conversation away from himself. "So _you_ went to the Department shrink for a sleep study?"

"I had to," Art was very matter-of-fact in his admission. "In my case, my snorin' was keepin' me from gettin' a good night's sleep, and it started affectin' me on the job. Slowed my reaction time. Same way it's affectin' you. It's a cumulative affect that you can't afford to ignore."

"While I appreciate your concern, I don't snore," Raylan continued to deflect. "At least not unless I've been drinkin' ... heavily ... which, of course, I would never do on a work night." Raylan knew Art knew he was lying about the heavy drinking.

Starting to become irritated himself, Art asked, "And how do you know whether or not you snore?"

For Raylan, he stated the obvious. "Because ... my partners have told me I don't."

"What have you got, _'Girls Gone Wild'_ goin' on over there, at that college bar?" Art asked, mostly curious about the plurality of Raylan's use of the word _'partners.'_ "Do your _partner__s_ snore?" "

Raylan let out a nervous laugh at the intimacy of this conversation. "Uh, not hardly and no," he used his finger to emphasize which answer went with which question. After a pause he added, "I have trouble _fallin'_ asleep ... not _stayin'_ asleep. And I don't want to go to a doctor who will give me pills. That's not the answer."

"Well, you better find the answer, since you're _the man with all the answers_ ... because you can't keep goin' on like this. Hell, I can't afford to ignore you draggin' yourself in here every day, runnin' on only two of your eight cylinders," Art was being very frank. "If you don't make some immediate changes, you'll soon be runnin' on empty."

Screwing up his face in a look of disbelief, Raylan Givens was beginning to feel challenged, a position he never accepted very well, no matter the source. He reactively stood up taller and puffed out his chest. "What exactly are you sayin' here, Art?"

Posturing in a counter move with his hands on his hips, Art clearly stated, "I'm sayin' you need to either take some time off _or_ go see the shrink. It's your choice."

"What ... now?" Raylan deflected again. "I still have a few loose ends to tie up with Wynn Duffy."

Art crossed his arms over his barrel chest. He decided to give his marshal a Raylan-style ultimatum. "You have until sundown to give me your decision. Until then, Rachael's goin' with you."

Shaking his head, as if what Art said made no sense, Raylan asked, "You want Rachael with me to question Duffy? What about Tim?"

Art was now speaking authoritatively, like a boss. "I want Rachael to chauffer you today and keep you from beatin' the shit outta Mr. Duffy. You're less likely to manipulate her or make her do your flunky work. And besides, I highly doubt you'll need Gutterson's sharp-shootin' skills to pay Mr. Duffy a _friendly_ visit."

Pursing his lips with an audible exhale of frustration, Raylan glared at Art.

"Don't give me that look. I'm serious, Raylan," Art was now glaring at Raylan. "You're not sleeping is affecting you on the job. Your diminished reaction time and quick-trigger temper make you a hazard on the road and to the Badge." Raising his eyebrows, he declared, "End of conversation."

With that, Art turned on his heel and walked towards the Marshal Offices' entry doors. Raylan followed him about 20 paces behind.

Once at the door, Art turned and decided to throw Raylan a bone. "Look at the bright side. I bet Rachael won't mind if you catch 20 winks on the drive out there. That would be far better for her than to have to deal with your _less than sunny_ temperament."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Deputy Marshall Rachael Brooks was not pleased with the favor Art had asked of her, but she understood why he wanted her there. Her assignment was to _'keep the peace'_ and to back up Raylan if either he or Wynn Duffy stepped out of line. But since their recent prison transport trip to Arizona, she had a little more insight into Raylan's behavior.

Following alongside Raylan out the office door, in her most professional voice, she said, "We're wearing our vests, plain clothed."

"Alright," Raylan agreed.

It was a wise call based on Raylan's colorful history with Wynn Duffy, much of which Rachael did not know.

"I'll meet you out at your car," she said, as she headed for the Ladies Locker Room to put on her vest under her clothing. Raylan went to his locker to do the same.

A short time later, Rachael joined Raylan in the parking lot. She was just happy to find that he hadn't ditched her. "Keys, please?" she asked.

He dug into his pocket, grabbed his keys, and tossed them to her. She could tell he was not pleased with this arrangement, as he always preferred to work alone, but he somehow seemed resigned. Once they stepped into Raylan's Lincoln, Rachel adjusted the seat and mirrors to accommodate her much shorter frame. Then, she opened a paper bag she had with her and pulled out a pastry with a napkin and handed it to her _'partner for the day.'_

Raylan held up his hand as a gesture. "No thanks. I'm not hungry."

"I didn't offer it to you because I thought you were hungry. It contains a lot of sugary carbs. Carbs make you crash and sleep," she explained, still holding out the treat with no emotion on her face or in her voice. "Couldn't hurt to try it."

Raylan looked at her sideways. What she said made sense. "Thanks," he nodded, as he took it from her.

"You're welcome," she said, as she started the car and pulled out of the lot.

Raylan took a bite out of the big strawberry jelly roll. It was extremely sweet.

"There's some bottled water in my bag, behind you ... if you need to wash it down," she said, keeping her eyes fixed on the road.

He reached behind his seat and could feel more than one bottle. He grabbed one by its neck. Balancing the pastry on his knee, he unscrewed the top off the bottle and took a few gulps to dilute the sugar overload in his mouth. He was then ready to proceed to eat the rest.

"Is everyone giving you advice on how to cure your insomnia?" Rachael finally broke the silence.

Raylan nodded, his mouth full. "Yeah."

"Well, this one is not a cure ... but it might help you catch some sleep on the drive out to Duffy's," she said,

Wiping his mouth and then his fingers with the napkin, Raylan swallowed and asked, "You wouldn't mind? If I nodded off for a bit?"

She quickly glanced over at him and said, "No, I wouldn't mind."

Raylan adjusted his seat to a recline position, stretched out his long legs in front of him, and pulled the brim of his hat down over his eyes. He then, crossed his arms over his chest and let out a long, slow exhale.

Rachael glanced over and watched his arms rise and fall over his chest. She actually felt for the guy, though she tried her best not to show it. Here they worked with crime victims every single day ... and to find out that Raylan had been one at the hands of his own father? For her, it explained a lot. Not that it ever excused his loner, _'doesn't play nice with others'_ behavior. But it offered an explanation as to why.

She couldn't help but wonder if it was his experience as a crime victim that made him such an effective marshal. Or maybe it was his familial relationship to a criminal. He certainly had a unique perspective, and it certainly explained his need to bring justice and order to a world that wasn't always fair. She had garnered a lot of trust and respect for the man over the past few years, getting to know the man vs. the legend. And she felt that he had learned to trust and respect her and Tim, as well. There was no doubt that she and Tim often felt slighted by Art's favoritism to his old friend from their Glynco days. But she had decided any favoritism shown to him wasn't Raylan's fault, although he wasn't above courting it from Art or anyone else he came into contact with. As much as Tim complained, he still did most of whatever Raylan asked of him. Rachael, on the other hand had set her firm, professional boundaries with Raylan from day one. He wasn't one to try and take advantage of her, in the way he did Tim.

More than any other marshal, Raylan had been through a lot since his arrival to the Lexington office. His aunt was murdered; he'd been shot, framed for murder; Winona left him, he shot and killed his first woman, and his friend Trooper Tom Bergen was killed in the line of duty. And worst of all, Rachael was with him when he brought his own father in for questioning for the murder of Tom Bergen and was subsequently held over for trial. Any other marshal would have folded under the strain a long time ago.

And then, unbeknownst to Raylan, when she inadvertently found out about how he was terrorized as a young child by his father, it was hard for her respect level for the man not to double.

When she glanced over at him again, his breathing had slowed to nice, even, shallow breaths. His arms had dropped and his hands had fallen loosely into his lap. His head had turned somewhat to the right, his mouth was slightly open, and his jaw and the lines on his face appeared relaxed. She was fairly certain he was sleeping.

(To be continued ...)


	2. Chapter 2

Title: A Change of Scenery (2/13)

Author: Romantique

Email: dolph1n

Classification: Raylan/Rachael Hurt/Comfort, Friendship

Rating: T for language

Summary: Raylan's inability to sleep reaches the breaking point. (Takes place after 'Fever Dreams' which is rated M for language and violence.)

Disclaimer: I wrote this fic immediately following the end of Season 3.

Legal: These characters do not belong to me. I'm just a fan and have not made a dime. Please email me to obtain permission to post.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

After the long drive, it was close enough to noon that Rachael stopped at a _Steak and Shake_. Neither parking the car under a shady tree, nor setting off the _'open door chime,'_ was enough to wake her partner who appeared to be sleeping hard. She would have to wake him soon anyway, and decided to give him a few more minutes.

After locking him inside the car, she headed into the restaurant and first made a quick stop in the Ladies Room. Then, she went to the counter and ordered them some lunch. About fifteen minutes later, she returned to the car and clicked the key fob to open the door. Once seated inside, she cracked open the windows. It was a perfect 72 degrees outside, and the fresh air smelled wonderful. As much as she hated to wake him, it was time.

"Raylan?" she said, as she tapped his arm.

No response.

She tried it again a little louder, and then a little louder.

"Wha ... huh ..." He awoke with a start.

"Time to wake up," she sharply said.

Raylan looked disoriented. His eyes were unfocused, and he had creases on the right side of his face where he had been leaning against the shoulder restraint system. Clearly, he hadn't slept long enough to be refreshed, but it was better than nothing.

"How long was I out?" he mumbled in a flat tone, rubbing his eyes.

"A couple of hours," she said. "I got you a Double Steakburger, no onions, and a plain vanilla shake, no whip. You owe me $8.00."

"I owe you more than that," he said, pulling a wallet out of his back pocket and handing her a twenty. "Thanks for playin' chauffer today. I know it's not what you had planned."

She handed him his shake.

"No whip. You remembered," he was impressed.

"It's not difficult to remember you like plain vanilla ice cream, plain milk shakes," she said. "It's your thing, isn't it?" Then, she handed him his fries and burger.

"Touché," he remarked. "Well, what kind of shake did you order?" he was curious.

"Banana," she said, taking a sip.

"So, you're a banana girl," he nodded, knowingly. "And your burger? With or without onions?"

"When I'm on duty? Without onions," she disclosed. "But when I'm home? I _love _grilled onions on my burger," she explained further.

"So, you're a _situational burger orderer_," he nodded again, taking a sip of shake. "How complex you are."

She flashed him a look. "I'm not complex. I just don't want onion breath when I'm on duty."

"Uh, yeah," he moved on to his fries. "Like that's in the manual."

"I was raised in the South to have manners," she explained. "I don't want everyone having to smell my onion breath. That would be rude."

"As someone who is sittin' right next to you in a closed car, I can appreciate that," he quipped and smiled.

She had to smile, as well. His quick wit could be charming.

Softening her stance a bit, she asked, "Are you feeling any better after catching a nap?" in between bites of her burger.

"I was just gettin' started," he lamented.

"You could catch another couple hours on the way back," she suggested.

"I'm already lookin' forward to it," he said, as he picked the meat out of his burger and ate it. "I will say though ... your jelly roll idea worked. I was out like a light. Thank you."

"You're welcome. I had a hunch it might," she said. "That's why I never eat donuts at the office. They make me sleepy. I'm much better off eating real food like fruit or nuts."

"Yeah, I've noticed you eat a lot healthier than the rest of us," he continued the conversation.

Rachael had been so kind to him since their Arizona trip, he decided to make an effort to learn more about her.

"I have to," she said. "Diabetes and high blood pressure runs in our family," she explained. "Like this shake for instance? This is a rare treat for me. You'll notice I got the small size, also with no whip. Why add the extra sugar?"

"I can see why you can only have one every once in a while," he nodded.

"Not just a shake ... fast food, restaurant food," she explained. "They have so much sodium and other food additives; I don't eat it very often. I cook a lot at home. I pretty much have to."

"I had no idea," Raylan said. "My diet is pretty much ... crap ... a lot of bar food. I'm sure it contains an entire chemical ... factory."

She agreed. "Your diet probably has you pretty toxic. It could be part of why you're not sleeping."

He looked at her. "You're not one of those colon cleansing, eats tree bark, chomps sea weed kinda girls ... are you?"

She laughed. "Why? Do you know that type?"

He laughed. "There are _all_ kinds at the bar downstairs from where I live. When they start tryin' to sell me on the idea of colonics ... I quickly make my escape." Then, he quickly backtracks. "I'm so sorry. Not a good topic of conversation while we're eatin'."

"Probably not," she agreed. "To answer your question ... no; I'm not that kind of person. I grew up on a farm. I'm a fresh fruits and vegetables, every day, kind of girl. I bake my own bread, make my own soup or stew without a lot of bad stuff in them. My mom lives nearby, and I'll make good things for her to eat, too. I want her to live longer than her mother did. My grandmother died at age 43 of a heart attack."

"Wow," he said. "This gives me pause. I don't give much thought to what I eat or drink. But now that I'm about to become a father ... maybe I should."

"Maybe you should," she looked over at him. "Start taking better care of yourself. Didn't you eat lots of fresh fruits and vegetables when you were growing up?"

Wadding up his burger wrapper into a little ball, he answered, "My Aunt Helen had a garden every year. I used to pull out the weeds, and she paid me a little somethin' for doin' that for her. Nothin' tastes as good as her sliced tomatoes and corn cakes."

"Exactly. So, you do know how to eat healthy," she said. "A lot of people who never lived on a farm don't."

After a moment, Rachael glanced at the clock. "I also hate to bring this subject up while we're eating, but we'd better get over to Duffy's."

Raylan's mood quickly shifted on that note. "He is another subject who is no good for the appetite."

Rachael drove up towards the restaurant to throw away their trash, while Raylan visited the rest room. When he returned and they were on their way, Rachael tentively spoke. "You know how professional I am, right?"

"By the book," Raylan agreed.

"And I only want you to take what I'm about to say as coming from a co-worker who is concerned about you and has your back," she continued.

"O-kay?" he raised a concerned eyebrow.

"Would you like to come to my house this evening for a good, healthy dinner?" she asked. "I'll make sure you get home at a reasonable hour."

Caught complete off guard, he said, "I'd love to."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Once the marshals arrived at the trailer office of Wynn Duffy's security business, Raylan knocked on the door. He was un-welcomly greeted by Mike, Wynn's muscle.

"We're here to see Mr. Duffy, Mike," Raylan said in an even tone. "Tell him this will only take a minute or so."

A moment later, Wynn came to the door. He was relieved to see Raylan in the company of a female marshal. "Raylan," Wynn raised an eyebrow. "I see you brought another friend."

"This is Deputy Marshall Rachael Brooks," Raylan presented his partner.

"Hello," Wynn said. "C'mon in."

They all went inside with Mike bringing up the rear.

Then, Wynn flashed an evil grin. "Does Marshal Brooks play that Harlan Roulette game, too?"

Rachael raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Uh, no," Raylan quickly tried to divert this topic of conversation. "You will be happy to know that she is too smart to play that game. But don't let her fool you. She would draw on you and/or Mike about as fast as I would, if you give her cause."

Tiring of this, Wynn asked, "Why are you here, Marshal?"

"For information," he replied. "I figure you owe me for gettin' that head lice, Robert Quarles, out of your hair."

"Well, I do appreciate the fact that he is now gone to a far, far better place," Wynn gave a toothy grin.

"Or not," Raylan lobbed one back, "dependin' on your religious affiliation." Then, he continued, "What we want to know is what you know about the fates of one Emmitt Arnett and his lovely assistant, Yvette."

Wynn looked at the Marshal with steely eyes. "One word ... Quarles. And I believe they've both gone to the great beyond."

"And would you sign a statement to that effect?" Raylan asked.

"Of course I would," Wynn said, appearing to be cooperative.

This was a first.

Raising an eyebrow, Raylan went on, "And you and your buddy, Mike, didn't see anything or have anything to do with it? By the way, I thought you headed up Quarles' clean-up crew."

"Not on that one," Duffy shook his head. "That was a takeover move Quarles made that Mike and I had nothing to do with. Quarles came for me, afterwards, and that was when he told me Emmitt was no more. I would assume Yvette was an afterthought."

Raylan did not let up on his questioning. "And do you know where we can find the bodies so we can give Yvette's momma a little peace?"

In his typical, irritating, Wynn Duffy tone, he answered with, "Gee, I wish I could help you, but I got the impression that no one will ever find the body or the afterthought."

"Are you sayin' that the remains were burned, scorched, mutilated, eaten?" Raylan counted down the possibilities on his fingers.

Sticking with his story, Wynn held the line. "I don't know, Marshal, but you are now under the same impression I am. I didn't need to hear the whole story to get the picture."

Then, Raylan skillfully changed the subject. "Now, with Quarles out of the way, Theo Tonin hasn't made you a job offer you can't refuse, has he?" Raylan figured Wynn Duffy was next in line to ascend the Dixie Mafia throne.

Smiling at the surprise, Wynn answered, "Why no. Mike and I are grateful to be out of the clutches of that bleached blonde freak, and we look forward to making an honest living selling alarm systems."

Clearly agitated, Raylan pressed a little harder. "I feel ... like I haven't been rightly repaid for gettin' you out of the clutches of that bleached blonde freak. How does that work?"

Wynn Duffy clenched his jaw. "I told you, truthfully, that Robert Quarles is the answer to your first question. If I ever hear anything more on that subject or any subject that requires your services ... you gave me your card when we first met."

Wanting to irritate this guy a little more, Raylan asked, "And did your cut it up into a million pieces and dispose of it?"

"Of course not. It was scanned into my contact software along with all the other business cards I come across. And because you did take care of Mr. Quarles, yours is held in a higher priority folder."

Now, it was Raylan who was clenching his jaw. "Is that some kind of a threat?"

Rachael moved her hand on top of her weapon, in the ready position.

Seeing her action in his peripheral vision, Wynn softened his tone. "No ... I'm now a straight, legitimate business man. Remember?"

"Oh ... yeah. I sure hope you continue on your righteous path along the straight and narrow," Raylan said, as he headed for the door. "Should you falter, we'll be here. Oh, and one more thing. You need to come into our offices to give your statement on what Quarles told you about Arnett. You, too, Mike. If you don't come in, we will pick you up."

"We'll be there tomorrow," Wynn said, not wanting the Marshal Service on his back.

"Ask for me or Deputy Marshal Brooks. She's a lot nicer to deal with," Raylan instructed, and Rachael gave her card to Duffy.

And with that, Raylan tipped his hat and exited the trailer, allowing Rachael to go first.

(To be continued ...)


	3. Chapter 3

Title: A Change of Scenery (3/13)

Author: Romantique

Email: dolph1n

Classification: Raylan/Rachael Hurt/Comfort, Friendship

Rating: T for language

Summary: Raylan's inability to sleep reaches the breaking point. (Takes place after 'Fever Dreams' which is rated M for language and violence.)

Disclaimer: I wrote this fic immediately following the end of Season 3.

Legal: These characters do not belong to me. I'm just a fan and have not made a dime. Please email me to obtain permission to post.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Once in the car headed back to Lexington, Rachael asked, "Did you get what you needed out of Duffy?"

"I figured it was Quarles who killed Arnett and Yvette, but I don't know that I believe anything else he had to say," Raylan settled back in his seat. "At least with his statement, we can write a report and put Yvette's mother on the road to havin' her daughter declared dead. There's some kind of life insurance policy for her family. At least it's somethin'."

"Where do you think the bodies are?" she asked, as her eyes stayed fixed ahead on the road.

"Where do you think?" he said, glancing over at her.

She took in a breath. "Was he suggesting their bodies are ... where all the others are? Wherever that might be."

"You picked up on that ... what he said he did with my business card," Raylan nodded. "Very good. Like in a landfill or someplace like that. Or he could be full of shit. Either way, odds are we're not gonna find them." Raylan thought back to the day he warned Yvette to get away from these characters. He closed his eyes and said, "Are we headed back to the office, first?"

"I'm looking at the clock," she answered. "We're going to hit traffic. I was thinking about heading straight to my house. I live on this side of the Expressway. That is, unless you have to go back."

Raylan sounded more and more tired by the minute. "No, but I do need to call Art, before he leaves for the day. I owe him an answer to a question ... his idea, not mine. It'll be a private conversation. If you talk to him before I do, would you please tell him I did not forget I owe him a call? And could I impose on you, one more time, to please wake me, well before 5?"

"Sure," Rachael nodded.

"I can give you a ride back to the office after dinner so that you can pick up your car," he offered. "Traffic should be lighter by then. It's the least I can do."

She thanked him before he nodded off, again.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Raylan," Rachael called, shaking him awake one more time. "It's 4:30. You said you needed to call Art before 5:00."

Raylan opened his eyes to find himself lying on a sofa in a place he didn't recognize. Seeing the look of confusion on his face, Rachael offered, "You're at my place. For dinner? Remember?"

He looked around the room. They were in a screened-in patio.

"I don't remember how I got from the car to here," he answered, as he sat up and scrubbed his face. "Wow." He shook his head.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "Alert enough to call Art?"

"Yeah," he said and swung his long legs onto the floor. "Where's your bathroom?" he asked.

"Down the hall, first door on your right," she pointed. "I'll leave you alone so you can talk in private."

"Thanks," he said.

After Rachael left the room, Raylan pulled out his cell phone and dialed his boss.

"Yeah, Art?" he said when Art answered. "This is Raylan. I thought about what you said. And I think I'm gonna choose to take some time off."

"Good," Art was pleased to find no pushback. "I don't want to see you back in the office for at least a week. Understood?"

"Understood," Raylan said. "Honestly? I feel like I could sleep for a week."

"Well, you do that," Art said. "Take care of yourself and call me in a week, okay?"

"Okay." And Raylan ended the call.

He then headed down the hall for the bathroom. Rachael's place incredibly neat and put together. She wasn't afraid to use bright colors on the walls, and everything was decorated in great taste and in proper scale. The bathroom was by contrast, a bright white and chrome with healthy live plants placed here and there. Very clean. What this told him was that she was a very well balanced person.

A few minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom to find wonderful cooking aromas that suddenly made his stomach begin to growl. Following the wonderful smell, he eventually found Rachael in the kitchen, chopping a myriad of things on a large wooden cutting board. He thought to himself that she chopped like one of those professional television chefs, clearly at home in the kitchen who knew what she was doing.

"Hey," he said, trying not to startle her with a knife. He couldn't help but notice the kitchen was as clean, organized, and stylish as the rest of the house.

"You're up," she looked up from her task. "I thought you might go back to bed. I'm about an hour away from dinner being ready. So, if you want to lie down a while longer, I'll wake you when dinner is done."

"Do you realize how many times you've had to wake me over the past ... month or so?" he gave a little smile, walking closer to a nearby table and chairs.

She thought about it and laughed a little. "Beyond the frequency of chance, isn't it?"

He nodded. "Is it alright if I hang out in here with you? I'd ask if I could help you chop but looks like you have things well under control."

She looked up again and said, "That's fine." After a beat, she asked, "How are you feeling after the 2nd nap?"

"Better," he said. "That room I was in is so peaceful, sleepin' in the fresh air. I could easily go back to sleep, but my appetite was gettin' the better of me."

"It is nice in there. I really like that space," she said, as she continued to chop. "You say you're hungry?"

"I wasn't until I smelled whatever you're cookin' over there," he said, taking a seat at the table. "It smells fantastic."

"It's tortilla soup," she explained. "It's a hearty soup ... more like a meal. But in the meantime, I have some chips and salsa if you're interested, and some guacamole."

"Yes, please," he said.

She went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bowl of salsa, another of guacamole, and grabbed a bag of chips off the counter. Then, she poured the chips into a basket and placed everything on the table in front of Raylan. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Sure. What do you have?" he asked, dipping a chip into the salsa. "Mmmmmm. This is great. Not out of a jar."

"No," she gave out a little laugh. "It's all fresh ingredients, homemade. The chips are also homemade. I buy them from a little tienda here in town. The jar stuff has way too much sodium in it, and in my opinion, doesn't taste good."

"Nowhere as good as this," he said, going for another chip, this time trying the fresh guacamole.

"I have filtered water, beer, and Sangria I made to go with dinner," she gave him her beverage inventory.

"If I have a beer now and Sangria with dinner, do you think it will mix well?" he asked, going for another chip.

"I don't know. That's up to you," she said. Aware of her desire to help this man, she also wanted to keep the boundaries clear. She would not enable him nor become responsible for his decisions.

Remembering how tough the last few days had been on his body, he rephrased. "If I want to learn about not eating so much toxic food, which choice would be best? Water, right?"

She was surprised at his question. This was a Styrofoam cup using, bourbon drinking, environmentally unconscious man who was asking the question. "Water's always best, but juices are also good. I made the Sangria with an organic wine that I buy at the store mixed with fresh juices and sliced fruit."

"What are you havin'?" he asked, going in for more chips and dips.

"I think I'll have Sangria," she said, reaching for a wine glass out of her cupboard.

"Then, I'll have the same," he decided to follow her lead.

She returned to the table with their wine and a small plate of jalapeño jack cheese and pulled up a chair on the other side of the table.

After she'd taken a few sips of her wine, Raylan asked her, "Can I ask you somethin'?"

"Sure," she said, as she reached for a piece of the cheese.

He began. "You cook and your house is beautifully decorated and as neat as a pin. You're a fantastic marshal, and ... if you won't file harassment charges on me, otherwise I'll deny I said it ... a beautiful and highly intelligent woman. My obvious question is: How come someone hasn't snapped you up?"

She gave him a look of surprise. "You want to know about my personal life?" It was the first time he'd ever asked.

"Yeah," he said. "Everyone knows about mine, whether I want them to or not. I love Art. Don't get me wrong. But he's got a big mouth when it comes to me."

Rachael chuckled. "That's because you give him so many _'teachable moments.'_"

He found himself smiling again. "Oh, so that's my great, life purpose in the office?" He took a drink of the wine and asked, "Rachael, what's really goin' on here?"

She looked at him, puzzled.

He went on. "I know I'm tired, loopy. I'm havin' a nice converation, very nice time. You and I have never had a good time before. What's different?"

"We're out of our environment? We're in my environment? I don't know," she said in all seriousness.

"But even before today," he continued, "you've been very kind to me. You took care of me when I was sick in Arizona. You took care of me today. Don't get me wrong ... I don't think of you as my caretaker. I want you to know how much I appreciate what you've done for me."

She smiled a very tight lipped smile. "I want to make my intentions _very clear_. I have a boyfriend. His name is Myles Johnson. He's going to school at the University of Alabama for his Masters in Education."

"Crimson Tide," Raylan interrupted, sounding impressed.

Rachael continued, "When he's finished, he'll look for a teaching position, and I'll ask for a transfer. Art knows all this." She shifted her weight in her chair. "As far as you're concerned, I think you get in the way of yourself. You work so hard to bring justice to others; you don't leave much time for yourself. I don't know for certain, but I get the feeling that I can teach you to bring some balance into your life. That is, if you're game."

"I am so glad you spelled it all out for me," he was actually relieved. "Because I'm an idiot, and I need things spelled out for me when it comes to the fairer sex."

She laughed. "Did you think I was comin' onto you, Raylan? By inviting you into my home? Even after I told you in the car that was not my intention?"

Lost, he said, "I honestly don't remember what you said to me in the car."

"What I said was, and I want to be clear, you and I are not sleeping together. It's not happening," she became extremely frank. "You have a reputation with the ladies that is not one of your more redeeming qualities, as far as I'm concerned." She took another sip of her wine and asked, "Can you just be friends with a woman? I mean a real friend?"

He looked dumbstruck.

And she continued, "Can you admire someone, and allow someone to admire you without getting all mushy and ... whatever?"

"You admire _me_? Really" he asked. "I thought you and Tim pretty much put up with me."

She clasped her hands in front of her. "I can't speak for Tim. I think he admires your skills and your experience. But speaking for me? There's a lot I can learn from you. I'm a very _'by the book'_ marshal, as you know. But you've got this instinct, this knowing what to do and when to do it. Your timing ... is impeccable."

"You mean my ninja skills," he smiled. "I don't know where that comes from. It's a sixth sense of some sort. I really don't think much about it."

"The best way for me to learn is by being around you," she hypothesized. "You know, by osmosis. That is, if you don't mind teaching or mentoring me."

"I tell you what," he smiled. "If you can show me how to bring some more balance into my life, I'd be happy to show you what I can about my ninja skills. As for Tim, he'd have to grovel because he's not as nice as you are. But no matter ... I've got your back, and Tim's, too."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

After dinner, Rachael quickly cleaned up the kitchen and talked to Raylan who was still seated at the table. They laughed a lot, mostly at Raylan's expense. He caught her up on Winona his baby mama, as well as Lindsey the bartender. He learned that Rachael was really quite the health nut, not only in her diet, but she had a daily routine of running and working out at the gym. She even meditated ... thus the screened-in patio space. He was really impressed with the structure in her life, in stark contrast to his free-flowing, crazy life.

Rachael promised to keep their conversations between the two of them, and he promised to do the same. It had been a while since Raylan had someone to talk to ... freely. It used to be Winona, but ... not so much anymore.

It wasn't long before he started to yawn, almost uncontrollably.

She noticed he was becoming very tired, very fast, even though it was only 7:30 p.m., she said to him, "I don't know how you feel about this, but I could close up the doors in the patio room and you could sleep there, rather than try to drive home tonight. We could ride into work together in the morning. You're free to use my washer/dryer for your clothes ... the shower."

He replied, "That call I had to make to Art today? He gave me an ultimatim. He's worried about my insomnia, and he said I either had to take some time off to deal with it or go talk to the Department shrink. I picked the former. Sooooo, I don't have to go into work tomorrow. I could wake up early and drive you in." And he yawned again ... and again. "I'd be happy, to. Thank you for offerin' me a place to sleep, because I'm not gonna last much longer tonight."

It was a good plan. The two went into the room and closed up the French doors. Rachael came back with some sheets, pillows, and a down quilt ... and they made up the sofa as a bed. She then told him goodnight and left him to get some rest. Before lying down, he called Lindsey at the bar and told her he was crashing at a friend's house so she wouldn't worry about him. After he made his call, he checked his messages. He had none. Then, he stretched out on the sofa and was out like a light in less than sixty seconds flat.

(To be continued ...)


	4. Chapter 4

Title: A Change of Scenery (4/13)

Author: Romantique

Email: dolph1n

Classification: Raylan/Rachael Hurt/Comfort, Friendship

Rating: T for language. This chapter has a suggestive sexual reference, but nothing graphic.

Summary: Raylan's inability to sleep reaches the breaking point. (Takes place after 'Fever Dreams' which is rated M for language and violence.)

Disclaimer: I wrote this fic immediately following the end of Season 3.

Legal: These characters do not belong to me. I'm just a fan and have not made a dime. Please email me to obtain permission to post.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Once again, Rachael found herself in the position of waking Raylan. A spiritual person, she knew this unusual, repeated theme of waking him had something to do with awakening something within her, but she wasn't yet aware of what that something could be.

She tried waking him from the doorway. When that didn't work, she went further into the room. The sun was beginning to come through the slats of the French doors. She felt strange seeing Raylan in his underwear again, as he'd kicked off most of his covers in the night. She couldn't understand why she felt funny seeing him like this because she had seen him in Arizona when he was sick. She'd even touched his bare skin when she wiped down his fevered skin. Sleeping there in the morning light, he wasn't a half-bad looking man she decided. Perhaps it was because while sleeping, he was disarmed, vulnerable. Perhaps it was because while sleeping, the lines on his face were relaxed, and he looked much younger than his years. He was also incredibly fit, considering his claim that he didn't do much to stay in shape except lift some weights for his upper body and swim a little in the summer.

The thought then suddenly occured she had been away from Myles, too long. She'd have to do something about that ... soon. That must be where these strange thoughts about Raylan were coming from, and she immediately dismissed them from her mind.

"Raylan ... time to wake up," she bent down and shook him when he didn't respond. "Raylan." She was beginning to get pretty loud.

"Hey," he finally said, opening his eyes. "I gotta drive you into work." He remembered. "How much time do I have?"

"Time for a shower," she said, already showered and dressed. "There's fresh coffee in the kitchen, too."

"Great," he said, pulling the covers over his boxers until she left the room, or else risk being embarassed by one of his body's early morning functions. "I'll be quick."

He took a shower, putting back on the same clothes he wore the day before. At least it did wake him up. He couldn't help but notice that Rachael left him out a clean towel and wash cloth, shampoo, some great smelling sandalwood soap, a razor, a toothbrush, deoderant ... very thoughtful, this girl.

After he quickly made up the sofa, put his shoes on, and collected his wallet, keys, cell phone, and hat ... he made his way to the kitchen.

"You take your coffee straight up, right?" Rachael asked.

"I do," he said. He sat down at the table, and she handed him a French press. After taking a sip, he said, "This is some strong stuff."

"Try some of this in it," she said, and passed him some almond milk.

"Hmmmmm. Much better," he said after trying some.

"This is some granola I made last week," she offered. "I like it."

Raylan gladly took it and poured some in his bowl and covered it in the nut milk, which was nut milk unbeknownst to him. He took a bite and again, commented on how good it tasted.

"I can't believe how well I slept last night," Raylan said. "I have no idea why I've been able to fall asleep so easily in the last 24 hours ... when I haven't been able fall asleep in a long, long time."

"Did the insomnia start before you moved over the bar?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah. Long before," he said, taking another bite of cereal.

"Before the shooting?" she asked about an obvious trauma.

He nodded. "Yeah. Before that, too. Don't get me wrong. I'm sure those things don't help, but no ... they didn't start it."

Rachael suspected it went on much longer than even Raylan was aware.

"Have you decided where you're going to go on your impromptu vacation?" she asked, sipping her coffee.

Raylan's face changed from being content to being unhappy. "I'm not the vacation type. Art's the one who is convinced I need a change of scenery. I've got a baby on the way. Spendin' money right now on any kind of a trip is not somethin' I'm gung-ho about doin'."

It was quiet for a moment when Rachael finally spoke. "What would you think about spending some time here? You've already gone through 12 hours of a detox. You said you're sleeping well. Want to keep going? Just think of it as _Marshal Rachael's Boot Camp_."

He thought for a moment. He wasn't fishing for an invitation, but he felt marvelous here. He was sleeping and eating well. He was laughing. He wasn't lonely. He was content.

"I don't want to put you out," he said, testing the waters. "I might consider it if you'd let me give you some money. I gotta eat and burn gas no matter where I am."

She nodded. "We could go shopping at the farmer's market. I'll show you some tricks for shopping healthy and saving some money. It's part of my _Boot Camp_."

Then, Rachael looked at the clock.

"We can talk about all this out on the way in," she suggested. "Are you ready?"

"Uh, yeah," he said.

"Hold on a second," she said. "Let me get you a key to the house."

Soon, they were on their way to the office. On the way, they discussed the need to get Wynn Duffy in to sign a statement about what Robert Quarles had told him and Mike. Rachael assured him that she would take care of it and that his only assignment was to rest but to try not to sleep past noon, else risk having trouble falling asleep that night.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

After Raylan dropped Rachael off at the Courthouse, he went to his place to change his clothes and pack a few things. Then, he stopped by the bar to let Lindsey know what happened at work and that he was taking off for a few days. He was vague about where he was going. He didn't believe he'd known her long enough for anything more to be her business. She did manage to convince him to take a quick roll in the hay, as he would be gone for awhile. He also thought it was a good idea, as he found himself having thoughts about his co-worker, and he wanted to try and just be friends with Rachael. Then, he thought that was a little arrogant on his part, as if Rachael had nothing to say about it. After the doing the nasty with Lindsey, he ended up taking another quick shower ... and then went on his way.

It was on the way back to Rachael's place that he got a call from Art on his cell. He thought it must have something about Wynn Duffy.

"Givens," he answered.

"Raylan," Art began. "You can't sleep with my best marshal. Do I make myself clear?"

"What?" Raylan asked, not believing what he was hearing. "What are you talkin' about?"

"Someone saw you droppin' Rachael off, here at the office this mornin'," he said.

"And you take that to mean that I slept with her?" Raylan sounded appauled.

"Besides it being against regulations to have sexual relations with your fellow Marshal Service employees, Rachael is my best marshal. I'll not stand for you messin' up her career," Art proclaimed.

"She's your _best _marshal?" he asked, souding even more appalled. "What the hell am I?"

"You're my best law man. That is, when you're not bein' investigated for addin' to your already high body count," Art explained himself. "But Rachael is, by far, the best marshal I've ever had. She is going to become a Chief Deputy one day. You? Not so much. That would entail you always followin' the rules. And rule number one is ... you don't sleep with Rachael Brooks! Capeesh?"

Exasperated, Raylan declared, "Art, I haven't.

"Then, why don't believe you?" Art sounded really upset. "Could it be because you slept with a State's witness when you promised me you wouldn't? Could it be because you got your ex-wife pregnant while she was still married to a Dixie Mafia flunky? Could it be because you are a man in your 40's, livin' above a college bar?"

"You haven't said anything to Rachael about this, have you?" Raylan asked. "She's so conscientious and _'by the book.'_ She'd be so disappointed in you, there's no tellin' what she'd do."

"No, I haven't. I wanted to talk to you, first. See the predicament you put me in!" Art continued his rant.

"Well, don't tell her," Raylan let out a sigh of exasperation. "Look, I'm not gonna give you a stroke, and I'm not gonna sleep with her. She has a boyfriend. You know that."

"Since when has that ever stopped you?" Art would not let up. "Raylan, I swear. If I ever find out you have, I will _hurt you_." Art was not kidding.

"Do you feel better now?" Raylan asked. "Can I be excused from this unwarranted tongue lashin'?"

"Here I've got you out on paid leave to take care of your insomnia ... and now, I've got to worry about this," Art was still upset. "I promise you ... if anything happens between you two, you'll be the one to go."

"I understand," Raylan said. "Bye." And he disconnected the call. Then, he turned his car around and headed back to his room.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Raylan turned his car around headed back to his place and holed himself up in his room, thinking about what happened with Art. He was angry, mostly because Art was right. If he was honest with himself, that morning he _allowed himself_ to look at Rachael ... in _that _way. Not as a fellow marshal, but as a woman, a very desireable woman. Suddenly, he was angry with Winona, too. If she hadn't left him, none of this would have happened. If Art hadn't insisted on partnering him with Rachael, none of this would have happened, either. This was the beginning of a perfect storm that promised a shipwreck of an outcome.

Why was he noticing Rachael all of a sudden when she had been there all along? Was it because she was nice to him, after being distant and standoffish for so long? What shifted? He got sick in Arizona. He was battling insomnia. Did Rachael have a thing for helping sick or helpless men? Had she allow herself to become receptive to him?

He woke up feeling so good that morning, better than he'd felt in weeks. Now, thanks to Art's phone call, he felt like shit.

At the end of the day, Raylan received a cell phone call.

"Hi, Rachael," he answered.

"Where are you?" she asked. "Did you change your mind?"

"I got to thinkin' ... and ... I don't think it's a good idea for me to stay at your place," he began, deciding to put it all on him.

"May I ask why not?" she sounded disappointed.

"Because I'm a hound," he cut to the chase. "I'm forever in love with Winona, I'm sleepin' with Lindsey because she's here and she's hot, and yet ... I still find time to notice my fellow law enforcement officer in a new light."

"And this is news?" she said with a little laugh.

"Look, Rachael. You've been nothin' but straight shootin' with me, so let me be straight with you. I discovered I have feelin's for you that are not okay for me to have," he confessed.

"It was the Sangria," she threw him an out. "Too much wine."

He paused for a beat. "You think so?" he asked, wanting to take that out ... wriggle off the hook.

After another beat, she said, "This is why I asked you if you've ever been just friends with a woman before, and you never did answer."

"I dunno. I thought I had," Raylan scratched his head, "but now, I'm not sure."

"You and I have to work together. I really wish you'd try it with me," she said. "If you decide to do my _Boot Camp_, I promise you I won't be so nice. More like ... I will kick your ass."

"But you haven't ... kicked my ass," he remarked, questioning her motivation. It was the marshal in him. "Quite the opposite. I'm used to you and Tim always bustin' my chops. Why so nice?"

"I was taking it easy on you because you were sick, or you couldn't sleep," she suggested. "It's no fun to bust your chops when you're down, can't banter back. But no more. I'm a Deputy US Marshal. I pursue, capture, guard, protect, and transport the lowest of the criminal low. I think I can handle you."

Raylan smiled. She was right. This was no ordinary woman.

"Tomorrow's Saturday," he noted. "What time would you like me to report to Boot Camp?"

"7 a.m. sharp," she said. _And no more Sangria_, she made a mental note to herself. "Oh, and don't wear your cowboy hat and boots. Make sure you wear some athletic shoes and bring a baseball cap. Do you have those items?"

"I do," he said. "Somewhere," he whispered under his breath.

(To be continued . . . )


	5. Chapter 5

Title: A Change of Scenery (5/13)

Author: Romantique

Email: dolph1n

Classification: Raylan/Rachael Hurt/Comfort, Friendship

Rating: T for language. This chapter has a suggestive sexual reference, but nothing graphic.

Summary: Raylan's inability to sleep reaches the breaking point. (Takes place after 'Fever Dreams' which is rated M for language and violence.)

Disclaimer: I wrote this fic immediately following the end of Season 3.

Legal: These characters do not belong to me. I'm just a fan and have not made a dime. Please email me to obtain permission to post.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Raylan arrived at Rachael's place, bright and early, wondering what he had gotten himself into. Dressed in sweats and a t-shirt and wearing athletic shoes as requested, he soon found out.

The two went on a hike through the University of Kentucky Arboretum in the cool, morning air. At first, Raylan's long stride made the jaunt a piece of cake, as Rachael took two steps for his every. They talked about current cases, the bulletins, updates. But soon, Raylan was breathing hard, heart-a- pumping. Being in shape quickly became _'advantage-Rachael,'_ as he struggled to keep up with her. His ego wouldn't allow him to say anything until finally, he began to cough uncontrollably. He suddenly had to stop, bend over, and support his long torso by bracing hands up on his knees.

"You're out of shape, Marshal Givens," Rachael informed him, taking a sip of her bottled water.

Looking up at her, sweat pouring down his reddened face, he responded in between pants, "Ya' think?" His pulse was pumping, veins popping out of his neck and forehead.

Pointing to a nearby bench, she said, "We can take a break until you catch your breath."

"Thank you," he was still panting and grateful for the offer.

They both took a seat.

"2.4 miles," she reported, looking at the pedometer clipped to her hip. "That's your baseline."

"Baseline?" he asked, taking a sip of water from his bottle, not sure if he really wanted to hear the answer.

"That number is only going to get better the more you hike," she said. She was breathing normally, cool as a cucumber.

"Oh," he nodded his head, thinking it better to keep his thoughts to himself.

"Did you sleep last night?" she asked, staring straight ahead at the spring foliage. Walking in nature was a key to what she was doing to her unknowing recruit.

"No," he admitted, his breathing beginning to slow. "Same story. Couldn't fall asleep."

"So, what do you do when you can't sleep?" she asked, not being able to image staying up, night after night.

"I studied the current bulletins," he looked over at her. "It's what I do. Never have to worry about a lack of readin' material because there are always new ones comin' in." He raised his waterbottle, almost as an exclamation point.

This confirmed to Rachael that he _really_ needed this boot camp, studying bulletins on a week off from work. "You do realize that I also study bulletins, but I don't use my sleeping time to do it. Right?"

"When do you do it?" he asked, genuinely interested.

"In the morning, after I meditate," she said. "I find my mind is clear and receptive to learning new material. Then, I quickly review them again when I get into the office."

"So, that's what you're doin' every mornin'," he noted.

She smiled. "While you and Tim banter, and you're on your 3rd of 4th cup of bad coffee to stay awake, that's what I'm doing. There are only so many hours in a day, and it's a more efficient use of my time."

"You're bustin' my chops," Raylan sighed. "Tearin' me down so you can build me back up?" And then, he gave a laugh at the boot camp tie-in.

Rachael raised a stern eyebrow. "Not at all. I'm suggesting that your way may not be the best way. Then, she crossed her legs. "When you work a case, you are really good at thinking outside the box. But in your personal life ... not so much. Just an observation." Then, after a beat, she said, "Okay, rest is over. Let's hit it."

What Rachael said stayed with him. Her observation was correct.

They continued on with the hike for about another 3 miles, at a slower pace. Afterwards, Raylan poured himself in to Rachael's car, and a short time later, she made a stop for refreshments.

"This is _my local bar_," Rachael said, directing him over to the counter of the juice bar.

Raylan looked around the place. It had a definite hippie vibe. "I'm outta my element here. Why don't you order somethin' for me, but be gentle. I heard wheat grass kills." Then, he pulled out a twenty from his wallet. "I'm buyin'."

"Thanks. I'll surprise you," she said and asked him to grab a table for them.

She soon joined him and handed him a tall clear cup with a frozen white conconction inside.

Smelling it with a distrusting look on her face, he said, "Smells like coconut." Then, he took a tenative sip through a straw. "Tastes like coconut ice cream."

"It's made from coconut milk, dairy free," Rachael said. "See if you can stay off of dairy for a few days. I thought this might help with your ice cream thing."

"I appreciate the gesture," he said. "It's rather good." Then, he looked over at hers. "What's that green goo you're drinkin' over there?"

"It has kale, spinach, cucumber, lemon, ginger, and apple juice in it," she said, taking a sip. "Would you like try it?"

"Uh, no thanks," he politely held out his hand. "Probably wouldn't mix too well with the coconut." After a moment, he asked, "What's next on the agenda?"

"Farmers market," she said. "I told you I would teach you how to shop for some healthy stuff that will save you a lot of money. You do have a kitchen, don't you?"

"Yeah, a very small one," he said. "But it's just me, so it's fine."

"Do you have a full size fridge?" she asked.

Taking another sip, he nodded. "Yep."

"Good," she said with approval. "We'll pick up a few things for dinner, too. Tim's joining us ... if that's okay with you."

Making the noise when there is nothing more left when drinking from a straw, Raylan said, "Tim? That oughtta be fun." Then, he foraged around to get every last drop of his coconut milk smoothie. He'd decided about half-way through that he liked it very much.

After hitting the farmers market, Rachael and Raylan stopped by her house to put their purchases away. Then, Rachael had Raylan help but a big salad together while she made a quick dressing and heated some sweet potato bisque she'd made weeks before and stored in the freezer. She explained to him that he needed more protein and calories than she, and added tuna and avocado to his salad.

About an hour after lunch, they hit a nearby gym where Rachael was a member. She had him work an equal session of cardio and free weights and drink a lot of water. They worked out for about 90 minutes and then each went to their respective locker rooms to shower and change before heading back to Rachael's house. Once there, she introduced him to a meditation CD. She even burned him a copy and made him promise to never listen to it in the car. He went into the patio room and listened to it. He didn't remember anything after the first few minutes as he drifted off to sleep for about an hour. When he awoke, he felt amazingly refreshed, especially considering he had not had much sleep the night before.

Not surpringly, he came out to the kitchen to find Rachael, at home in her kitchen. Dinner was going to be simple tonight, so she quickly arranged the asparagus tips in the steamer and brown rice in the rice cooker and turned the rice on to cook.

She then taught Raylan about the use of the supplement, Arnica. Since he'd had quite a workout ... she gave him some homeopathic pellets and told him to put them under his tongue to dissolve. He did as he was told, as she explained it would take care of any soreness. And he would have no excuse for not coming back the next day.

Next, she turned her attention to the salmon.

"You have to let me grill the fish," Raylan insisted. "That's one thing I'm good at ... cookin' with fire."

She led him out to the grill, off the patio. It was a propane grill, making starting a snap. Then, she brought out a large fish turner, a clean platter, and some lemon wedges ... and handed Raylan the large coho salmon fillet wrapped in butcher paper.

After getting him all set up, she left Raylan, alone, watching the large salmon filet cook from the skin side toward the center, being careful not to overcook it. He had developed a throbbing headache by late afternoon. Rachael told him it was from caffeine withdrawal and made him a cup of mint mate tea, and he was sipped on it as he grilled. She explained it had caffeine in it, too, but not an addictive formulation. He had to admit it was helping.

This was the first down time he had all day, and he rather liked that it was at the end of a very active day. He didn't feel that way while he was hiking or running around all over town, but now that it was all over, he felt good, spent. Unlike an active day on the job, it had been a busy day without adrenaline pumping through his veins. Then, he recalled that Winona had often told him he was an adrenaline junkie. He wondered if perhaps she was right. She was often right. He missed not being able to pick up the phone and talk to her whenever he wanted. He missed that, but he didn't miss the impasse between them, the impasse that could never be bridged.

Raylan the wrested the big filet, carefully turning it over to begin cooking on the other side. It was at that time when fellow Deputy Marshal Tim Gutterson came walkting through the screen door.

"So, you're on the grill, tonight," he nodded with a smile on his face. "You look like you know what you're doing."

Raylan nodded with a smile and then, held held out his hand for a shake. "Why? Did Rachael send you out here to check up on me? I don't think she believes me that I know how to grill."

"You know she did," Tim nodded. "And you're going through Rachael's Boot Camp?

"You know about the Boot Camp?" he asked. It wasn't that he really cared if Tim knew or not. It was just that he and Rachael had made an agreement to keep things they told one another ... between one another.

"I'm a graduate of her Boot Camp," Tim nodded. Then, picking up on his co worker's discomfort in the knowledge of his personal business, he added, "Don't worry. Rachael didn't say anything to me. I could tell because you're not in your regular cowboy attire. The athletic shoes are a dead giveaway. That and, I know Rachael."

One thing about off duty marshals getting together; it was difficult to hide things from one another. They were all professionals at noticing things and profiling behaviour.

Taking another sip of the tea, Raylan asked, "How did you come to do Rachael's program?"

Tim took a seat in a nearby lawn chair. "I started having trouble with my blood sugar, all of a sudden, on the physical. Diabetes runs in my family, so the doctor wanted to put me on insulin. Anyway, I talked to Rachael about it, and she said she thought she could help me. She taught me how to eat better, and today, my blood sugar is perfectly normal. No insulin, no worries. I got my brother and my folks on her program, too. The whole family is doing much better." Then, he leaned forward. "Why are you doing it?"

"Insomnia'," Raylan sighed. "I've always had a problem sleepin', but I guess it's really gotten out of hand over this past year."

A moment later, Rachael joined the two out on the patio.

"Hey, Rach!" Tim called out for her from the other side of the pavers. "Were you helping out ol' Raylan here the day you left your car in the Courthouse parking lot overnight?"

Caught off guard by the question, she searched Raylan's face for guidance as to how much to say. Raylan gave her a nod to signal it was alright for her to answer.

"Yeah," she answered. "Why do you ask?"

"Shit," Tim swore under his breath. "I might have unknowingly said something to Art. I guess I'd better 'fess up." Then, addressing both of them, he continued. "The other morning, I saw you two in Raylan's car dropping you off early, Rach, as if you two had been out all night. I sort of mentioned it to Art in passing ... and he wasn't very happy."

"Tim!" Rachael called him out. "How could you?"

"Hey, I didn't think anything of it about you ... and neither did Art," he said, addressing Rachael. "But Raylan? We both thought the same thing."

"And what was that?" Raylan raised an eyebrown, while tranfering the fish off the heat and onto the platter.

Looking directly at Raylan, Tim said, "That you were taking advantage of Rachael."

Then, looking up at Rachael, Raylan said, "See? Told 'ya. I'm a hound. Apparently, everyone knows it."

"Oh, no," Rachael shook her head, looking ill upon hearing this news. "I've got to set Art straight."

"I already did," Raylan said, squeezing lemon over the fish. "But I'm not sure he believed me."

"You talked to Art about this?" Rachael asked, surprised by this entire, strange conversation.

"No, he talked to me," Raylan clarified.

Taking in a deep breath of irritation, she asked, "And when were you going to tell me?"

"Never?" Raylan answered. "I asked Art not to say anything to you. He's not upset with you ... he's upset with me ... as usual. And I told him there wasn't anything going on between us. End of story."

"It's always about you, isn't it?" Tim snarked. Turning his attention to Rachael, he said, "I think you need to tell him about your Boot Camp . . . that you were only trying to help out ol' Raylan here."

A little more than irritated with Tim, she said, "I think that is between Raylan and me."

"You know, Art could stand to go through your Boot Camp," Raylan chimed in, trying to add some levity to the conversation. Then, he added, "He's lactose intolerant and wound up a little too tense in my view."

Tim caught Rachael's drift. She had always been above board in dealing with him. He couldn't expect her to be any different with Raylan. "Look, Rach ... and Raylan. I'm sorry. I didn't know what was going on at the time. Art jumped to conclusions and I ... let him do it. Right there is where I was wrong." In his zeal to get one over on Raylan, his friend got stung in the crossfire.

Raylan was well aware of the dynamic is the office. When he was assigned to the Lexington office, he got in the way of Tim's career path, and Rachael's too to a lesser extent ... Although Art let it be known that she was on the track to become a Chief. He didn't really blame Tim for the way he felt. Everybody was in a situation and just trying to make the best of it.

"Apology accepted," Raylan said, ready to move on. He knew Rachael would not budge until he did. "We'd better get this salmon served up."

And the three went inside the house for dinner.

(To be continued . . . )


	6. Chapter 6

Title: A Change of Scenery (6/13)

Author: Romantique

Email: dolph1n

Classification: Raylan/Rachael Hurt/Comfort, Friendship

Rating: T for language. This chapter has a suggestive sexual reference, but nothing graphic.

Summary: Raylan's inability to sleep reaches the breaking point. (Takes place after 'Fever Dreams' which is rated M for language and violence.)

Disclaimer: I wrote this fic immediately following the end of Season 3.

Legal: These characters do not belong to me. I'm just a fan and have not made a dime. Please email me to obtain permission to post.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"I brought beer," Tim said. "Organic, of course," he smiled. "Can I bring you one?" he asked Raylan. "Rach?"

Thinking about the night with the Sangria, both Rachael and Raylan said at the same time, "Uh, no thanks."

"But you go ahead," Raylan added.

The three ate dinner in silence, other than the obligatory compliments to the two chefs.

Finally, Tim asked, "What's on the Boot Camp agenda for tomorrow?"

Rachael looked over at Raylan. "I go to the early service with my mother on Sundays. You want to meet me here at 10:30, sharp?"

"Okay," he responded, flatly. Still hungry, he went for seconds of the salad, as the fish and rice were pretty much gone.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Raylan was uncharacteristically quiet.

"Oh, yeah," he passed it off. "I'm just tired."

Tim remarked. "Sounds like mission accomplished."

"Yeah," Raylan verified. "And I'm thinking I'd better drive on home ... while I still can," he said, after swallowing his last bite.

He stacked his dishes, grabbed the empty rice bowl and platter, and went around the kitchen island, carefully placing the large stack into the sink.

"Thank you for today. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" he nodded to Rachael. "Bye, Tim."

And with that, he went off to grab his things and left.

"Did I run him off?" Tim asked.

Rachael shook her head. "I don't think so. I worked him pretty good today."

Changing the subject, she asked him, "How's Emily?"

"Good," Tim said. "She's at her sister's baby shower tonight. She should be calling me in about an hour to pick her up."

Tim had been dating Emily Shelton for about two years. Her father was a cop; she came from a long line of law enforcement officers, although not one herself. She worked over at Central Baptist as an obstetrics nurse. Rachael thought they were pretty serious.

"How is Myles?" he asked in return.

"Fine," she said, clearing her dishes away from the table. "He's flying in next weekend for a visit."

"That's good," Tim said, clearing his plate. "You haven't seen him in what? A couple of months now?"

She let out a long sigh. "Too long." She then began loading her dishwasher, as they continued talking.

"Has Myles ever met Raylan?" Tim asked, now stacking his plates to take to her to load.

She shook her head. "No. He was supposed to meet him that weekend when Raylan was shot. Remember? That get-together never happened."

"Maybe we can all get together this time? That is, if Myles is going to be here long enough," Tim suggested.

"We'll see," she said. "Raylan may not want anything more to do with me after Boot Camp." She laughed.

Picking at some washed strawberries sitting on the counter and popping them in his mouth, Tim said, "Boot Camp may be one of the best things to happen to him in a long time."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The next morning, Raylan arrived at Rachael's house at 10:30 a.m., sharp, as requested. He felt amazingly good. He expected to be sore from the weights. The only explanation he had was that the arnica he was given actually worked. He also was able to fall asleep to the cd Rachael burned for him. He was out in the first 5 minutes of the meditation, and best of all, he slept all the way through the night.

Rachael answered the door and let him in, directing him back, to the kitchen. And then, she introduced him to her mother.

"Raylan Givens, this is my mother, Ada Brooks," Rachael smiled.

A reflected smile came over Raylan's face. He was delighted at the opportunity to meet her mother. "Very nice to meet you ma'am," he said, as he held out his hand.

The older woman looked him up one side and down the other. "I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Givens," she said, as held out her hand as well. He noted that Rachael sounded a lot like her mother.

Uncomfortable to what she may be referring, he searched Rachael's face.

"You're a legend," Mrs. Brooks continued. "Rachael's told me about some of your escapades. You know, you ought to write a book about your high adventures."

Raylan smiled, somewhat relieved. "You think so, huh?" This woman was a character.

She then offered him some buckwheat pancakes and scrambled egg whites she had made. "If you're gonna go through my baby's Boot Camp, you're gonna need the fuel."

"You may be right," he said, looking to Rachael for permission.

Mrs. Brooks quickly responded with, "There ain't no maybe about it. Sit down and have you somethin' to that will stick to your ribs."

Rachael nodded. "Just don't overeat," she warned him. "That would not be pleasant."

The three sat down to breakfast after Raylan helped himself to some eggs, pancakes, and maple syrup from the counter. Fresh squeezed grapefruit juice was already on the table.

"I haven't had buckwheat pancakes since I was a boy," he said with a smile, as he took his first bite. "These are fantastic."

"So much better for you than that boxed stuff that has absolutely no nutrition," Mrs. Brooks informed him. "And that is real maple syrup. None of that imitation, cheap stuff they sell at the store."

"Mrs. Brooks, I would like you to know that you have raised an exemplary daughter," Raylan offered. "She is just an exceptional marshal and human being."

Rachael was surprised to hear a compliment coming from him, as he was not one to dish them out.

"Don't I know it," Mrs. Brooks was not coy in the least in accepting the compliment. "And she met her match in Myles. I can't wait until they marry and give me some grandchildren."

"Mom," Rachael seemed embarrassed. "Not now."

Raylan was enjoying this, learning more about Rachael. "I know Myles is goin' to school. What is he studyin'?"

"Ethics," Mrs. Brooks said. "He's gonna graduate and come on over here to the University of Kentucky to get his Ph.D. and teach."

"We'll see, Mom," Rachael corrected her. "They have to offer him a Ph.D. candidacy, first."

"Oh, they will," her mother reached out and patted her daughter's hand with confidence. "You gotta keep the faith."

In an instant, Raylan could see where Rachael got her strength of character. These Brooks women were the real deal.

After breakfast, Raylan helped Rachael clean up the kitchen mess. It was then that she told him her mother was staying behind to keep an eye on the free range turkey in oven they bought the day before ... while they went on their next Boot Camp adventure.

Tai chi. Raylan knew it was a type of martial arts, but one he thought no one took very seriously. Wasn't this the dancing thing older people do in the park? Not at all like karate or judo. They arrived at a studio where he was introduced to Rachael's tai chi instructor, Matt Robertson. It was a large mixed class, male and female students with most appearing to be in their 20s and 30s.

"I don't know anything about tai chi," Raylan leaned over and whispered.

"Don't worry," she whispered back. "Just stand near the back, observe, and follow along as best you can. If you do nothing else, follow the foot movements without the arms. During the class, Matt will repeat the form over and over again. You will find that you have learned some of it before the session is over. This all about achieving balance of the mind, body, and spirit. Also, pay attention to the breathing. The instructor will tell you what to do."

Raylan did as she said and moved to the back of the room. He followed along as best he could, feeling like a fish out of water. The movements were slow, awkward, and had odd names like open the curtain, play the lute, brush the knee, and tie the coat. He honestly didn't see how moving this slowly could be of any benefit. When he would finally get a movement going to the right, suddenly, he couldn't do the same movement to the left. There were mirrors in the studio that played tricks on his brain by flipping things around. But he kept on moving, and by the end of the class, Rachael was right ... he was able to do the first part of the form by opening the curtain and the waving of arms.

After class, Rachael caught up with him. As a very competent student, she had been placed to the side so that she could be followed when the form moved in her direction.

"How did you do?" she asked.

He laughed. "I did as you said and mostly moved my feet."

"Good," she approved of his effort. "I know you don't feel like you did much, but you'd be surprised. You are using so many of the small muscles in the feet, legs, hips, and spine in order to maintain balance.

"I'll take your word for it," he said.

"Now, are you ready to hit the gym?" she asked. "You need to get in some more cardio and weights."

He was amazingly ready for something more physical than the tai chi. "Sure," he answered.

About a half an hour later, they arrived at the gym. He worked hard, deliberately working up a sweat. Rachael had explained how this was a part of the detox. After a good session with free weights, she sent him off to the men's locker room to take a sauna. She explained that it was good to prevent sore muscles, as well as accomplish an even deeper layer of detoxification. Afterwards, he showered and changed and met her outside the front entrance of the gym.

Upon seeing her, he had to admit he was feeling great, almost high. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm feelin' great. I slept really well last night. Frankly, I'm shocked you've been able to accomplish this with me in just a few days."

Rachael smiled in satisfaction. "I was hoping," she said. "This is great when it works. Can you imagine how great you'll feel by the end of the week? I have to work tomorrow, but there is no reason why you can't come over here or to the tai chi classes or go for a long walk or a hike during the day. The benefits will far outweigh any inconvenience. And I've got you signed up as my guest at both places for the next week or so. So, you can't use money as an excuse."

"I tell you what," Raylan went on. "If you tell me what you'd like me to do, I could have dinner either done or pretty much prepped by the time you get home tomorrow. I'm into this, and I'd like to keep it goin'."

"Well, alright," Rachael was pumped that this was working.

During the ride home, Raylan had returned to his chatty self, indicative he was in a good mood. Over the past few years, she had learned to gage his moods by the amount chatter coming from him. Once one got to know Raylan, he was fairly easy to read. For instance, when he was quiet, it could mean that he was contemplative, as when he was working a case. But it could also mean that he was in a place of quiet rage. She saw that one clearly when his Aunt Helen was murdered and the same during the murder investigation of Tom Bergen's shooting.

Or it could also mean that he had gone inward with his thoughts, so inward ... it was almost as if he checked out and went somewhere else, entirely. While this happened to everyone from time to time, with Raylan, it was a little different. On those occasions when he went inward, Rachael always got the feeling that wherever he went to check out, it wasn't a good place. It was a dark place, a really dark place. A deathly quiet place. She had seen him do this after Winona left him, although she did not know exactly what happened at the time. And more recently, when she accompanied him to arrest his father for Tom's murder. While Raylan always talked about Arlo in distant, third party terms, no one would ever convince Rachael that Raylan didn't care anything about his father. She was there. She saw the look on his face, in his eyes when they brought Arlo back to the Courthouse. The look of humiliation that came over Raylan's face when confronted with having to look his fellow law enforcement officers in the eye ... when all eyes were on him. His father was being arrested for murdering one of the best State Troopers in the Department ... and everyone in the room knew it.

To see him now, back to the Raylan she knew and admired so much, was a very good thing, indeed. From the passenger seat, he became very animated, talking with his hands. He complimented her mother and asked her questions about the inner purpose of the tai chi. He said he just felt good, better than he had in ages.

(To be continued ... )

A/N: I'll update again in a few days. Work calls.


	7. Chapter 7

Title: A Change of Scenery (7/13)

Author: Romantique

Email: dolph1n

Classification: Raylan/Rachael Hurt/Comfort, Friendship

Rating: T for language. This chapter has a suggestive sexual reference, but nothing graphic.

Summary: Raylan's inability to sleep reaches the breaking point. (Takes place after 'Fever Dreams' which is rated M for language and violence.)

Disclaimer: I wrote this fic immediately following the end of Season 3.

Legal: These characters do not belong to me. I'm just a fan and have not made a dime. Please email me to obtain permission to post.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The next day, Rachael arrived home from work to find that Raylan was there with dinner ready to serve. He had put together a spinach salad to go along with chicken breasts he broiled out on the grill. After Rachael freshened up a bit after her long day at the office, she came back into the kitchen and quickly set the table, grabbing some rice crackers and iced tea from the fridge.

"I talked to Art about the boot camp," she informed him as they both sat down at the table.

"Yeah?" he asked, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Well, first of all, he was relieved there was an explanation other than what he was thinking," she laughed.

"Good," he said. "We're off the hook?"

She continued. "He asked how you were doing, and I told him I thought you were doing great. But I also warned him that you need to keep going for another week or so." Then, she looked over at him. "How _are_ you sleeping?"

He nodded. "Better," he said. "I think the key is that _I am sleeping_." After a sip of the tea, he added, "I'm so tired from all the fresh air and physical activity ... I pretty much collapse once I'm in bed."

"That's the idea in the beginning," she explained. "But you'll soon adapt to the activity, and that's when the meditation is going to take over. Have you been listening to the CD?"

He laughed a little. "Yeah, but I don't know how much listenin' is goin' on. I'm out in the first three minutes."

"That's okay," she said. "You're still hearing it in your subconscious whether you're aware of it or not."

"That CD is not gonna make me break out in the 'Chicken Dance,' at some inopportune moment, is it? he asked.

Rachael laughed. That was a funny thought. "No," she promised. "It's nothing like that. It's about relaxation."

After some small talk about the day, Rachael totally changed the subject.

"You've never met Myles," she began.

Raylan shook his head. "No, I haven't."

She continued. "He's flying in on Friday, and I thought I would hold a casual get-together on Saturday night. I'd love for you to come and my mom, Tim and Emily. You're welcome to bring someone, of course."

Her suggestion changed his mood like the flip of a switch. "No offense, but I don't want to feel like a 5th wheel. I mean, who would I bring?""

"Anyone you like," she tried to keep the suggestion light. She could tell by his reaction she struck a raw nerve. "Or no one at all."

"I'd _like_ to bring Winona," he confessed, "but I don't think she'll come. It's not you all," he tried to explain. "It's me she doesn't want to be around." After a bite of the chicken, he continued, "I _could_ bring Lindsey, but I'm tryin' not to encourage whatever it is that we have goin' ... to become anything more than it is."

Almost sorry she'd taken Tim's suggestion and invited Raylan, she decided to confront what she was seeing. "Did you know that you don't look so good when you talk about Winona and Lindsey?"

He looked up at her. "It shows, huh?"

"Yes," she nodded. "You know that relationships are all part of this, right? The insomnia? Your relationships also have to be in balance."

"Really?" his tone was a little sarcastic. "Well, that is gonna be a problem ... with Winona."

"Have you tried talking to her lately?" she suggested.

"We text," he answered. "But we always manage to get into it ... even just textin'."

Rachael thought for a moment. "She's a pregnant woman going it alone. For whatever her reasons. Couldn't you try and be her friend? Again, couldn't you be just friends with a woman?"

"I'd really like that," he said. "Besides missin' her for all the obvious reasons, I miss talkin' to her most of all."

"Why don't you try it ... again?" Rachael encouraged him. "And Raylan, as your coach, promise me you'll talk to me about stuff that's bothering you, okay? Don't let this kind of thing eat at you and un-do all the great progress you're making."

"I'll try with Winona," was the best he could give her. "And I'll try with you, too."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Raylan and Rachael went for a long walk after dinner, and then, he headed on home. After he returned to his room, he pulled out his cell phone to place a call.

"Hey, how are you?" he asked when she answered. For as long as he'd known Winona, the distance between them was taking its toll on him.

"I'm fine," she answered, sounding somewhat annoyed with his call. "The baby's fine."

Then, there was silence.

"What's up?" she asked, knowing him like a book. He did not call to see how she was doing.

"I have somethin' to ask you," he answered with hesitation in his voice. "I was invited to this little get-together at Rachael's on Saturday night to meet her friend, Myles. I think it's gettin' pretty serious between them. He's in school workin' on a post graduate degree in Alabama and is flyin' in this weekend. Anyway, Tim is gonna be there with his girlfriend, Emily, and ..."

"And ... you don't have date." She always could finish his sentences. "I'm sure you could find one of those girls from your bar who would love to go with you."

"You know about my bar?" he mumbled? After a silent beat, he went on, masterfully changing the subject. "Did you know Emily is an obstetrics nurse over at the hospital?"

"Speakin' of obstetrics, I need to talk to you about something," she said, changing the subject yet again. "But I want you to promise me, first, that you won't get upset or mad."

"I promise," he said, finding himself already becoming irritated with her. He tried to breathe ... in and out.

"It's about the baby," she began. "I'm over 35, and my doctor talked to me about doing an amniocentesis test for Downs Syndrome. Do you know what that is?"

"Yeah, I know what it is," he took a seat on the edge of his bed. "Are you worried about Downs Syndrome?"

"It's a precaution," she kept her tone light. "There's a slight risk to the baby by doing the test. They guide this long needle by ultrasound to take a sample of the amniotic fluid, and it makes for a risk of infection. That being said, the test is a lot safer to do now than it used to be."

"Do you _want_ to do it?" he asked.

"Yeah, I think so," she answered. "I'd rather know than worry about it." Then, she tried to be even lighter. "You know me. I don't like surprises." After a beat of silence, she continued in a much more serious tone. "But there's one more thing I want to talk to you about. While they're doing the genetic testing, I was wondering if you'd be willing to give the lab a sample so that they can do a paternity test at the same time. It's not a big deal. They just need to swab the inside of your cheek."

"A paternity test?" he was taken aback. Under his breath, he uttered, "I didn't realize paternity was ever in question."

Becoming a little defensive, she explained, "I'm 99 percent sure you're the father of my baby, but the fact is ... Gary was still around at that time. Depending on the exact time of conception, there is a _slight chance_ , a _very slight chance_ that you're not the father. I would rather know for sure, now ... then to wait until after the baby is born. Wouldn't you?"

Raylan was silent, trying to process all this. For all the complaining she did about the dangers of his job, and about how he didn't talk to her, she could also certainly be a handful ... full of surprises.

"Raylan?" she tried to keep him on track. "Talk to me."

He finally said, "I don't want to do a paternity test."

"Well ... you _have_ to do the test," she suddenly became extremely defensive when asking nicely didn't get her what she wanted. And then, she threatened him. "You can either cooperate with this, or I'll get a court order." Legally, she was already two steps ahead of him, in her mind. Her job as a court reporter made her well versed on her rights and options.

Very calmly, he let out a long breath. "From the moment you told me that mornin' you were pregnant, standin' there brushin' your teeth in my motel bathroom ... in my mind, this is _our baby_. Period. And now with Gary gone, what's the point in doin' a paternity test? I am willin' to take responsibility for this child, be a father to this child, no matter what any ol' test says."

"You have a right to know," she tried arguing but changing her tactics. "I have a right to know. This baby has a right to know."

"Then, why are you askin' me?" To say he was confused was an understatement.

His question was met with silence on the other end of the call.

Finally, he broke it by giving in, as he always did with her. "Fine. Do it. But it's not gonna make any difference to me." He let out another pent up sigh of frustration. "Whether it's my baby or Gary's ... Downs Syndrome or no Downs Syndrome ... whether you and I are together or not ... I'm gonna be here, Winona. This is a helpless, innocent baby we're talkin' about ... we're the adults here. I know better than anyone that it takes far more to be a father than merely providin' the genetic material." They both knew he was referring to his own father. Then, Raylan paused again. "As part of my compensation, I have good benefits on my job. Would you please allow me the honor of providin' for the child?"

"What are you trying to do here, Raylan?" she asked, ashamed of the way she came off with him. "Kill me with kindness?" No matter how had she tried, she could never stay mad at him ... not for long.

"I dunno," he asked, his tone somewhat lighter. "Is it workin'?"

There was a little pause. "I'll meet you there," she said, "at Rachael's. But we're not goin' as a couple, okay? We can go as two adults who will be raising a child together." It was all she could allow herself to handle with him.

"Alright," he nodded, not sure what he felt. "I'll see you then. And Winona? Thanks." He didn't really feel grateful, but this was the first, small concession she had made since she left him.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Still early for a Monday night, Raylan was physically spent and stretched out on his bed, on top of the bedspread, and turned on the meditation CD. Within minutes, he dozed off.

Sometime later, there was a rap outside his door. He woke in a start. It was Lindsey.

"Can I come in?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah," he said, with some hesitation in his voice, opening the door wider to allow her entrance.

"Were you sleepin'? I saw your light was still on under the door," she explained. She felt bad if she woke him, as she was aware of his insomnia.

"I had dozed off," he said, rubbing his eyes. He was still dressed in his clothes ... he even had his shoes on.

"I thought you said you were leavin' and yet, you're here?" she rambled. "I don't want to push or pry ... but are you doin' alright?"

"Have a seat, Lindsey," he said. After his talk with Rachael, he decided that he needed to be honest with her. "I'm goin' through this boot camp kind-of-a-thing to get me _'detoxed'_ off of junk food, booze, coffee ... all those crutches. It's to deal with my sleepin' problem. At work, I was given the choice of either dealin' with it on my own or ... reportin' to the Department shrink and havin' it done for me. The choice was clear."

Wise beyond her years, Lindsey interjected, "And is sex also one of those crutches?"

He nodded in the affirmative. "At least for now it is."

"On this program," she continued, "are you allowed to have friends?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "I can use all the friends I can get."

"I'm off this evenin'," she said. "Do you think maybe we could just talk for a little while? And I mean, _just talk_?"

"Sure" he agreed. "Now, don't laugh, but would you like to join me in some of this here ... peppermint tea?" he asked in a tone of disbelief there was herbal tea in his place.

"Oh, wow," she said, mostly as an observation. She noted this was quite a departure from shot-slamming' Raylan. "Uh, sure. I'm game."

After he put the water on the stove, he returned with some almonds and dried fruit which he put on the table.

"This is part of the detox," he explained.

"Did you know you were talkin' in your sleep?" she asked, reaching over for a piece of dried pineapple. "The other night."

He looked over at her, quizzically. "No," he said.

"You were callin' out somethin' like, _'Stop it ... Don't,'_" she recanted. "Sounded bad ... upsettin'."

He shook his head. "I dunno," he said. "I honestly don't remember." Then, he asked her a question. "Do I snore?"

"No," she shook her head. "You don't."

"My boss asked me if I thought I had sleep apnea," he explained. "That's why I'm askin'."

About that time, the kettle began to whistle. He went over to the stove and filled two mugs with hot water, and then, he dunked fresh tea bags into the water and carried the mugs back to the table.

"Are you off tomorrow until your night shift?" he asked, waiting for the tea to cool a bit.

"Yep," she nodded. "Why?"

"I'm goin' hikin' in the mornin'," he answered. "Would you be up for goin' with me? Might be nice to do somethin' other than what we usually do." He smiled. "The co-worker who has been workin' with me has to go into the office tomorrow. So, I'm on my own."

_He really was different_, she thought to herself. "Are you sure you want the company?"

He thought for a moment. "I really need to hike for a while. If you want to come, I leave that totally up to you." He decided he did not want to take responsibility for anyone but himself.

"I could stand some fresh air," she said. "Do you think we'd be finished by noon, one o'clock? I have some things I need to do tomorrow before I go on shift."

He shook his head, sipping on the warm tea. "I think so."

The two made plans to meet downstairs at 8:30 a.m. Lindsey didn't keep him long, as he soon began to yawn. She could take a hint. But at the same time, she appreciated his honesty. She found it to be as refreshing as the peppermint tea.

(To be continued . . .)


	8. Chapter 8

Title: A Change of Scenery (8/13)

Author: Romantique

Classification: Raylan/Rachael Hurt/Comfort, Friendship

Rating: T

Summary: Raylan's inability to sleep reaches the breaking point. (Takes place after 'Fever Dreams' which is rated M for language and violence.)

Disclaimer: I wrote this fic immediately following the end of Season 3.

Legal: These characters do not belong to me. I'm just a fan and have not made a dime. Please email me to obtain permission to post.

A/N: So sorry for the delay. Real life interrupted in a big way.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

More or less, the boot camp went along in the same routine established by Rachael. Rachael continued to meet up with Raylan after work. It was a nice break for her as he would do the shopping for fresh produce. That was probably one of the toughest parts of her program ... to always have fresh produce on hand.

After a day of martial arts and a long walk to nowhere to try and clear his head, Raylan met Rachael at her house, where they took off together for a trip to the gym. While she took a Zumba class, he hit the free weights, pumped hard, and worked up a good sweat. After he hit the showers, he met Rachael at his car for the drive back to her house for a garden fresh dinner.

A few moments after being on the road, Rachael glanced at Raylan in the driver's seat. "You're quiet. Is something on your mind?"

He nodded.

After more silence, she pressed. "Is it something you can talk about?"

He let out a sigh. "I dunno," he stared straight ahead at the road. "It's personal."

"Is something gnawing at you?" she perceptively asked.

Again, he nodded in silence.

Gingerly, she continued to press. "We've talked about this. The kind of stuff that, if not dealt with, can set you back."

Raylan shifted his gaze towards the passenger side of the road, away from her.

"I'm not going to say anything to anyone," she continued. "You need to talk to someone. I figure it's me ... or the Department Shrink."

He took in a full breath and then, slowly let it out. Shifting his weight, he finally said, "It's the baby."

"Something's wrong with the baby?" she asked with great sincerity.

"I dunno," he mumbled, continuing to stare straight ahead. "Because of Winona's age, the doctors suggested a test for Downs Syndrome. She said it's all routine and not to worry about it."

"And yet, you're worried?" she asked, trying to understand the weight he was carrying.

He let out another, deeper sigh ... one of resignation. "She's also asked me to take a paternity test."

"Oh." Not knowing what more to say, Rachael decided to say nothing and listen.

Finally, he glanced over at her. "I called her the other night to ask her to your get-together. That's when she hit me with all this." After another moment of silence, he added, "Never saw it comin'."

Rachel could tell the man was hurt.

"You didn't see it coming when she left you, either. Did you?" she asked.

"Neither time," he uttered. "The woman is full of surprises."

Thoughtfully, Rachael shared her latest thought. "It's hard to fool us marshals. I mean, that's really saying something ... that she surprises you. We're trained to be observant."

"Well ... I've obviously got a blind spot where Winona's concerned," he again uttered.

"Maybe you're vulnerable where she's concerned," Rachael offered. "And vulnerability in a relationship requires trust of the other person. Complete trust."

Thoughts began to crowd his head. He didn't trust her ... couldn't trust her, not anymore.

They drove the rest of the way in thoughtful silence, soon arriving back at Rachael's house. After some small talk while preparing a quick meal, Raylan once again opened up at the dinner table.

"It never occured to me to ask her if paternity was an issue," he confided. "I just assumed she and Gary were through."

"I can see why you might assume that," she said, digging into her salad.

"You know what really bothers me?" he asked, placing his water glass on the table so as not to spill its contents. "That this has been on her mind all this time ... and she never said anything until now."

"You want to be the father, don't you?" Rachael astutely surmised.

Pursing his lips, he looked up at her and nodded his head, unable to form the words.

"What would you do if you're not?" she asked, taking this conversation a painful step further.

She could have sworn she saw a tear form in his eye.

"I dunno," he said, hanging his head to hide his eyes. "I really dunno."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Over the next day or so, Rachael worked more with Raylan on the _'connecting with self'_ part of her program. Until Winona threw him for a loop, he was becoming more of a believer because the program agreed with him. He felt great, had been sleeping at night, and best of all, his head had never been clearer.

Rachael wondered if he would be able to maintain this equilibrium upon returning to work. It was one thing to control his behaviors when on vacation. It would be another thing entirely when the stress of his life was applied. She never dreamed he would be dealing with something so personal as the health and paternity of Winona's baby.

Despite this complication, one thing Raylan had not expected was the realization he could no longer numb himself from his feelings with alcohol or by using work as a distraction. He didn't want to go back to using them as a crutch. It could be so easy to do. He could say the same about sex ... using Lindsey as a crutch. Rachael continued to work with him on not allowing uncomfortable feelings to store up. She described these feelings, without the protection of a distraction, as _'raw.'_ Raylan agreed that was the perfect description.

This new awareness of having stripped down, raw feelings and emotions caused Raylan to do something that was somewhat out of character for him: He asked Winona to schedule his DNA testing, as soon as possible, before he was scheduled to return to work. The whole idea of being asked to prove fatherhood was making him uncomfortable, and he wanted to get it over with.

He went down to the clinic, filled out a bunch of paperwork, and had his cheek swabbed. Now, all he had to do was to wait for the results.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_Saturday night ..._

Winona made good on her promise to come to Rachael's get-together. She met Raylan at the Courthouse, and they drove over, together.

"How long will it be before all the test results are in?" he asked while driving.

Adjusting the seat belt strap from digging into her shoulder, she answered, "Two weeks from last Wednesday ... about 10 more days. My doctor said they could come in sooner. I think they just say 2 weeks so patients don't bother them."

She couldn't help but think that, although her belly had grown much bigger, her height had not. The seat belt had obviously been adjusted for someone other than her.

"Bother them?" Raylan looked over at her, raising an eyebrow. "These tests only affect people's lives."

"I know," Winona nodded. "So, we wait."

After a moment of silence, Raylan spoke. "Could I ask you somethin' ... that's been on my mind?"

"Shoot," she said.

He first let out a sigh. "Did your wantin' me to do a paternity test have anything to do with you leavin' me?

"I already told you. I left because you shoot people where you live," she responded and then, defensively crossed her arms in front of her chest. "But I'm not going to lie. I wasn't looking forward to asking you to do the test."

"If you really do want me outta your life, wouldn't it be a whole lot easier if Gary was the father?" he continued.

"But I don't want you out of my life," she carefully spoke, "at least not completely. And what was all that you were telling me about how you would stand by this child no matter what?"

"It stands," he said, looking straight ahead at the road. "Just so you know, if the baby turns out to be Gary's, it won't be easier for me." Then, after a pause, he added, "What did you mean by you don't want me outta your life _completely_?"

Winona could tell he wasn't happy with her.

"I do love you," she said. "I'm always going to love you."

He thought to himself that she had a funny way of showing it.

"And I'm sorry if this hurts you," she added. "That wasn't my intention."

He glanced over at her. "Nevertheless ... it does. Hurt, I mean."

This was a first. The first time he'd ever described how he felt to her without her prodding him. It took her aback. After a moment, she reached over to take his hand ... offer him some comfort. He recoiled by pulling his hand away, placing it firmly on the steering wheel, and staring stoically ahead at the road.

Winona felt badly for him. She felt badly for the three of them.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"What is this boot camp?" Winona asked, feeling completely out of place.

Everyone here seemed to know one another, feel comfortable with one another ... even Raylan. She told herself she would make an appearance, and then, make an excuse to leave. These days, that wouldn't be hard to do, as she easily tired.

Winona's question caused Rachael to suddenly surmise that Raylan hadn't told her much about what he had been doing.

"Art finally put his foot down and made me deal with my insomnia," Raylan explained to his ex in his own, concise way, "either on my own or I could do it the Service's way. Rachael offered to help."

Even more perplexed, Winona looked to Rachael for answers.

"Over the years, I developed a program that consists of a clean diet, physical activity, and mind/body connection to restore balance and integration of the mind, body, and spirit," she explained. "I went through the program years ago and then, went through a certification program so that I would be able to teach it to others because it made a profound difference in my life. I call in my _'boot camp,'_ because it's a tough program to go through, especially the first days ... week or so."

Myles also spoke to it. "Rachael put me through her boot camp several years ago. Think of it as a re-balancing of the mind, body, and soul. I hadn't realized how out of touch I was with myself. I was using every legal means imaginable to distract me from myself, from my divine connection, and my connection with others. It was almost like waking up after years of sleeping through this life."

"Or in my case, not sleepin' so much," Raylan said under his breath.

"So, you're not drinking?" she asked him.

"Not for now," he said.

Tim chimed in. "I went through Rachael's program last year. Now, I'm able to have the occasional beer or fast food burger, but I don't find a need to drink or eat junk. Not like I used to."

Winona couldn't believe what she was hearing ... that Raylan would agree to do something like this. "Well, you look good," she observed. "You look rested. Your coloring is good."

Raylan nodded. "I feel better. I've gotten more sleep in the past week than I've had cumulative in months."

Winona knew about Raylan's insomnia all too well. When she was with him, he rarely stayed in bed with her, after she fell asleep. She either woke to find she was sleeping alone and would find him sitting in the other room ... alone ... drinking and reading case files and bulletins.

"Is this some kind of a 12 step program or what?" Winona became curiouser and curiouser.

She knew Raylan believed in God, but she couldn't see him in some formal, religious based program.

"No, not in the traditional sense," Rachael shook her head. "I mean, there's a meditation component that says we're not in control. There's a greater power out there somewhere that allows us to let go of stress and all the physical and emotional stuff that goes along with it."

"In other words, the boot camp works for all denominations," Raylan further clarified.

"Well, so does AA," Winona corrected him.

She had heard the pros and cons of AA, along with a lot of other things, testified to in court over the years. Raylan often thought that was why she was so often contrary with him. She could argue any side of an issue and often did. He once told her that he thought she should go to law school, and she took offense. She had been told before she was argumentative by nature, a part of her personality she could not see. Raylan meant it as a high compliment, yet it turned into a big impasse because she then refused to argue.

"It's true that AA is open to all religious beliefs, but its roots are firmly based in Christianity," Myles tried to clarify.

"Yes and that aspect can turn some people off," Rachael added. "Not always what you want to do when someone needs to open up."

"It's not for everyone," Myles agreed. "Dealin' with addiction and religious beliefs at the same time, although they can be very much related to a root cause, can be a tough thing to do. Although extremely effective, AA does contain some charged language."

"Addiction, or self-medication, is not always the reason for going through the boot camp. The root causes of stress and addiction can be the same, but they're not always. And although the Marshals Service offers us counseling in some situations," Rachael continued, "it's not the same as having to deal with the cumulative stress that comes with working for the Service as a career."

"Well, yeah," Winona nodded her head. "Ya'lls jobs are extremely stressful," she agreed.

"It's not only stressful for them," Myles added. "It's stressful for their families, too." Turning to Winona, he said, "It must be hard for you ... to have your husband in the Service, expecting a baby and all." He couldn't help but notice Winona's condition.

Winona let out a nervous little laugh. "Raylan's my ex-husband," she explained, clarifying the distance she had created between them. "When Raylan's career becomes too stressful ... I leave." And she gave out a nervous little laugh.

Feeling the sting of how quick she was to point out the fact that she left him, again, Raylan quickly added under his breath, "You can sure say that again."

"Raylan!" Winona flashed him a look of disapproval.

"What? I work with these people," Raylan countered, "and they know you left me. They know all my private business. Art sees to that."

Tim stepped into the conversation. To Winona, he said, "Nevertheless, you are still connected to the man. I mean, Raylan talks about you like you're family."

It was at this point that Emily, Tim's girlfriend joined the conversation. "If you ever need anyone to talk to, you could always talk to me. I know I'm not always able to talk to Tim until he's ready to talk about things that happen on the job."

Winona felt threatened. "Is this some kind of Winona intervention or something?" She looked at everyone in the room with a suspicious eye.

"No, it's not like that," Raylan sighed. "They're just tryin' to be nice. You know ... supportive." After a beat of awkward silence, he added, "Supportive of you ... supportive of me."

"Ohhhhh," Winona said, feeling foolish for jumping to conclusions. She thought that maybe she did that a lot ... jumped to conclusions. "Well ... that's good. That's good you all are there for one another." She knew from Raylan that had not been the case, not so long ago.

"We're here for you, too," Emily said. "I'm an obstetrics nurse over at the hospital. Are you having your baby over there?"

"I am," Winona nodded, still somewhat guarded. "I'm Dr. Salazar's patient."

"Stan? He's a great guy and a very fine doctor," Emily informed her. "He's one of my favorites."

Winona began to relax a little. "That's good to know." Emily sounded sincere.

"So, when are you due?" Emily decided to keep the rapport going.

Winona placed her arms lovingly over her belly. "I'm just now going into my fifth month." She looked to be further along, as her pregnant belly looked deceptively big on her petite frame.

"I don't want to be presumptuous, but if you'd like, I could be there for you on your next appointment," Emily offered. "But that's only if you'd like, and you don't have to decide now. No pressure. I just thought you might like an _'insider'_ on your medical team."

"That's a kind offer," Winona answered and gave the younger woman a smile. "I will think about it."

It was at this time that Rachael decided to serve dinner. Winona made a conscious decision to do a little less talking and a lot more observing, especially of Raylan. He was calmer than she had seen him in a long, long time. And he looked good ... younger, brighter, and definitely rested.

And yet, here she was, throwing him one of life's curve balls, and she felt like a heel.

(To be continued ...)


	9. Chapter 9

Title: A Change of Scenery (9/13)

Author: Romantique

Email: dolph1n

Classification: Raylan/Rachael Hurt/Comfort, Friendship

Rating: T

Summary: Raylan's inability to sleep reaches the breaking point. (Takes place after 'Fever Dreams' which is rated M for language and violence.)

Disclaimer: I wrote this fic immediately following the end of Season 3.

Legal: These characters do not belong to me. I'm just a fan and have not made a dime. Please email me to obtain permission to post.

A/N: Sorry for the delay ... but these next chapters were hard for me to write. I had to first get it straight in my own head. I only hope it rings true and that you enjoy.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Raylan joined Myles and Rachael for a long hike through the University trails and then afterwards, he promptly excused himself. Knowing how much Rachael had been looking forward to Myles' visit, he couldn't help but feel like a third wheel when he was around them, out of place. Then, he couldn't help but think perhaps that was how Winona felt the other night around his co-workers.

Ever since that night, it was hard keeping his thoughts off of Winona. He missed her so and yet, at the same time, he was angry with her. This shift in the way he was feeling was both sudden and obvious ... part of the feeling 'raw.' He was noticeably tense, his neck and shoulders tight, and his stomach was churning. He decided to head for the gym, where he put on some boxing gloves and began beating the hell out of a punching bag.

The more he thought about her, the angrier he became. She had left him again, _for a third time_, as he'd only recently discovered. She only came back to him after she left the second time because he'd been shot ... because she felt sorry for him or bad for leaving him when he was down. She only came back because, unbeknownst to him, Art had put out a BOLO on her. And as usual when it came to Winona, he was always the last to know. She sure as hell was never one to say anything ... until it was too late.

The marshal punched and he punched with a rising rage he hadn't allowed himself to experience in quite some time. He didn't understand how she could come back to him and sleep with him and tell him how much she loved him. _Punch!_ He didn't understand how she could tell him it was okay for him to leave their house-hunting trip because he was called in to do his job ... and then, not really mean it. _Punch!_ He couldn't believe she told him she was carrying his child and now, maybe it wasn't really his child. _Punch!_ He couldn't believe he was angry with her ... again. _Punch!_ That he'd allowed himself to fall for her again. _Punch!_ But most of all, he couldn't believe how, despite all of this, he could fall for her, all over again in a New York minute. _Punch! Punch! Punch! Punch! Punch!_

"Son-of-a-bitch!" he panted, red-faced, drenched in sweat, and totally spent of energy.

He couldn't believe how angry he was ... with himself. _Punch!_ And with that last strike to the bag, out of breath, he slowly made his way to the showers. And then, he wondered if Winona ever became this angry with him whenever she thought about him.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

As soon as he hit the 'call' button on his cell phone, he wished he hadn't. It was too late to be calling. He knew he was disturbing her, but it was too late ... the call had already gone through. This was his first true bout with insomnia since he started the Boot Camp program, and a feeling panic and dread was beginning to set in.

"Raylan?" Rachael quickly answered her cell phone, but her voice was clearly groggy from sleep. "What's going on?"

"Look, I'm sorry I called," he stammered. "It's late ... and I ..."

"You and I have a deal, remember?" she sat up in bed, quickly making her way down the hallway and to the living room, so as not to disturb a sleeping Myles. "Tell me. What's going on? Can't you sleep?" The clock on the wall pretty much answered her question.

"No, I can't." Raylan let out an exasperated sigh. "I can't fall asleep because I can't help thinkin' about Winona," he began.

"Has something happened between you two?" she asked. "Something new?" Winona and Raylan were so ... volatile from her vantage point.

"I keep goin' back to her leavin' me," he answered. "You know she never tells me anything, and so, I'm left to my own devices."

"Uh-oh," Rachael flipped on a lightswitch. "That can be dangerous."

"Well, yeah." Raylan paced as he talked. "When Winona first told me she was pregnant, I told her I'd ask for a transfer back to Glynco ... and I did. I asked Art, and he said no ... at the time. And I also told him I thought I wanted to quit the Marshal Service after I almost had my kidneys yanked out of me by that crazy prison nurse, Lance and his even crazier girlfriend, Layla."

"Yeah?" Rachael asked, lowering herself down onto the sofa. She'd heard some of this, but not all.

"Art said I'd get over wantin' to quit," he continued. "He thought it was more about me shootin' a woman for the first time than it had to do with concern for my own safety. And he was right."

"Was he? Was he right about everything?" she asked, pulling a nearby knitted afghan over her bare legs and feet.

"I kept my promise about askin' to go to Glynco, but I never took it any further," he sighed. "And Winona said that if I'd really wanted to put her first, I would have done it by now. And she was right. I can't argue with that." He put his head in his hand. "If I have any chance of gettin' her and the baby back into my life ... I feel like I need to do somethin' else."

"Raylan ... this is your career you're talking about. How do you feel about giving up your career?" she asked.

"I don't want to give it up," he admitted, probably for the first time. "For all the complainin' I do ... I'm damn good at what I do."

"You're a legend," she smiled. After a beat, she added, "That's an awful lot for her to expect from you. Are you sure that's fair to you? Her wanting you to get out of the Service?"

"Fair's got nothin' to do with it ... and it's not exactly her fault about what she expects," he explained, now sitting at the table. "She begged me not to go to Harlan that day I got shot ... and I went anyway. After I _promised her_ nothin' was gonna happen to me ... and then, I got shot. She told me before I left her that day that she might not be there when I got back."

"So, she gave you an ultimatum," she repeated back to him. This was news to her. "But you sure promise her a lot," she observed from this conversation. "I mean, how could you do that? We all know there are no guarantees with this job. Every time we're called out in the field, none of us know for sure something couldn't happen to one of us. None of us know if we're coming back."

He thought for a moment about what she said. "I do make her a lot of promises. Guess I never noticed."

"It's even more than that. You're making promises you can't keep," she continued to observe.

"Jeez. I'm such an ass," he shook his head in his hand. "Winona's a smart woman. I'm sure she could see through that."

"I'm sure she knows whether you're bull shitting her or not," she summed it all up, bluntly.

"I think I bull shit so much, I start believin' my own BS sometimes," he agreed.

There was a beat of silence.

"Look, do you want to leave the Marshal Service and go to Glynco?" Rachael brought the conversation to a head.

"Honestly? No. I'd be doin' that for her," he answered without skipping a beat. "It might make her happy, but I'd be more miserable than I already am. And at my age, I don't know how to do anything else."

Rachael laughed. "I think miserable is just your personality. You like to complain. It's a habit."

"You think so?" he smiled.

"Yes," she answered, closing her eyes. After another beat, she asked, "Have we solved anything tonight?"

"You mean this mornin'?" he glanced at his watch. It was 3:30 a.m. "Yeah, I think I need to stop bull shittin' Winona ... and myself."

"That sounds like an excellent idea. Do you think you can sleep now?" she asked, trying hard to stay awake.

"Yeah, I think maybe I can," he answered. "Hey. Thanks. You are really good at cuttin' to the chase. I'll let you get back to sleep. Night."

"Night, Raylan," she said, and she turned off her phone and drifted off to sleep, still on the sofa, with her phone in her hand.

After finally admitting to himself that he didn't want to give up his job, Raylan was suddenly not so mad at Winona. Nor was he so angry with himself. He headed back to his bed and was able to drift back to sleep.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Raylan returned to work mid-week. He figured returning mid-week would give him a short week his first week back, time to begin adjusting to his new schedule of physical activity outside of the job. He arrived downtown bright and early, actually beating Art to work for a change. When the senior marshal walked past Raylan's desk, he motioned for Raylan to follow him into his office.

"So, you're ready to come back to work?" Art asked, quickly putting some of his personal things away before taking a seat behind his desk. Eyeing the younger man up and down, he commented, "You look good."

"I feel good. I'm rested," Raylan said, standing before him on the other side of the desk.

"So, I hear you went through Rachael's boot camp," Art smiled. "Are you drinkin' wheat grass juice, chewin' on seaweed, and singin' Kum-bay-ya?"

"Don't knock the wheat grass juice unless you've tried it," Raylan was quick with an answer. "And no, I can't sing." Shoving his hands into his pockets, he added, "You know, it wouldn't hurt for you to go through this boot camp thing."

"Why?" Art looked up with a scowl between his eyebrows. "I sleep like a baby."

"But you're always sayin' I'm gonna give you a stroke," Raylan shifted his weight. "And face it, you could stand to lose a little of that middle of yours."

Art shook his head. "Is this my punishment for making you clean up your act, Raylan?"

"No," Raylan shook his head back. "It's just that this program has done Tim and me a lot of good. I just thought maybe it would be good for you, too."

"Are you tryin' to tell me you care about me, Raylan?" he looked up and gave Raylan a condescending grin.

"Well, yeah," Raylan nodded. "I don't want nothin' bad happenin' to you."

"If you really do care about me, you'll wear your vest when you need to wear your vest, and call for back-up when you need to call for back-up," Art preached. "And you'll think twice before shootin' someone with deadly force."

"Hey, even you must admit I've been better on all three of those counts ... as of late," Raylan began talking with his hands.

"I tell you what," Art leaned forward onto his elbows. "You keep on doin' that for me, and maybe I'll start doin' Meatless Mondays or goin' out some place healthy for lunch with one of you health nut turncoats once in awhile."

"Or you could do both," Raylan raised an eyebrow. "It'd be a start."

"You better get on, back to your desk. You have a lot of bulletins to go through," Art gave a strong hint. "Crime does not take time off from work."

And Raylan decided it would be in his best interest to take that hint. But first, he turned back around and said, "Hey, Art?"

Art looked up at him with a puzzled look on his face, thinking they were done with their conversation.

"I don't want to leave the Service," Raylan said. "I'm good, right where I am."

And then, he turned on his heel and went back to his desk.

(To be continued ...)


	10. Chapter 10

Title: A Change of Scenery (10/13)

Author: Romantique

Email: dolph1n

Classification: Raylan/Rachael Hurt/Comfort, Friendship

Rating: T

Summary: Raylan's inability to sleep reaches the breaking point. (Takes place after 'Fever Dreams' which is rated M for language and violence.)

Disclaimer: I wrote this fic immediately following the end of Season 3.

Legal: These characters do not belong to me. I'm just a fan and have not made a dime. Please email me to obtain permission to post.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The days at work went by more smoothly than Raylan thought they would. He noticed that each time Art sent him out in the field, he was partnered with Rachael. He couldn't help but think it was by design and even asked Rachael about it, but she said she honestly didn't know Art's motivation.

"How are you doing today?" she asked, as Raylan drove them out of the city limits for a prison transport.

Keeping his eyes on the road, he answered, "The days are tickin' by. This waitin' for the results of the tests on the baby is tougher than I thought it would be."

Knowing that Raylan would stand by Winona, no matter the result of the paternity test, Rachael smiled. "Imagine what it will be like waiting for the day the baby arrives?"

"Yeah, maybe," he considered her remark and nodded his head, "maybe as it gets closer to the delivery date."

"Shouldn't the test result be in, any day now?" she asked.

"Should be," he said. "How are things goin' with you and Myles?" he asked, very much wanting to change the subject, a subject he brought up.

"It's been nice having him here. Too bad he has to go back, but he does," she said, shifting her weight in her seat.

"Long distance relationships," Raylan uttered. "They can be tough."

Rachael nodded in agreement. "I think my best bet is to schedule a long weekend off and soon. We do better if we have our next reunion planned ... in advance."

Upon thinking about that thought, Raylan mumbled, "It's the not knowin' that can always get to you. I guess we all just want to know where we stand."

For him, waiting to hear the results of the paternity test, that crystalized thought form rang true. He just wanted to know.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It was later that week when Winona finally called Raylan to see if he would meet her at Bellini's for dinner, after he got off from work. She had the results of her tests, but didn't want to go over everything in a phone call.

Once at the restaurant, they each put in an order for lasagna; Raylan's was vegetarian of course. The waitress warned them the lasagnas would take 30 to 40 minutes to bake them fresh. Lasagna was Bellini's specialty. They both said the wait would be fine, as they had some serious talking to do.

Left alone, in her softest voice, Winona offered, "Raylan, I'm sorry I put you through this, but I had to know for sure." She looked melancholy.

"Are you disappointed _'I __am__ the father'_?" he asked with a small, satisfied smile, doing his best talk show host, Maury Povich, imitation.

She gave a little laugh at his quick wit, but then, somewhat confused ... she answered his question with one of her own. "No, are you?"

"I'm over the moon," he said with a smile, the kind of a smile that made the outside corners of his eyes crinkle. "Are you okay with it?"

"Of course, I am," she looked up from sipping on her water glass. "I just didn't want to get my hopes up. I don't know what I would have done if this baby had been Gary's. Especially after finding out he put a hit out on us. Thank God I've been spared that."

Raylan didn't know what to say. He never wanted for her to know that part about Gary. But then, considering how things turned out for Gary, he thought maybe it was for the best that she did know.

"And you're sure you're not disappointed we're having a girl?" she asked, thinking this could be his one and only chance at fatherhood.

"She's healthy," he said, taking a bite of his salad. "No Downs Syndrome. Your pregnancy is progressin' normally. Isn't that all that matters?"

Winona looked at him, almost wistfully. "You've changed, Raylan," she observed. "I don't know if it's this boot camp program or because you're sleeping better, but you're hanging out with your co-workers. You're not drinking. I don't know ... you just seem ..."

"Borin'?" he looked up at her, out of the corner of his eye.

"These days, I don't mind a little boring," she confessed. "You know, pregnancy and motherhood could be construed as being a little boring, too. Certainly not what I would call very sexy."

Daring himself to look across the table at her, in the candle light and into her blue eyes, something he had avoided doing all evening, he said, "Winona, you've never looked sexier than you do tonight." Then, under his breath, he said, "You are the only woman in the world who can make me weak in the knees," while trying to keep himself steady.

"Still? After everything I've done to you?" she asked, somewhat in amazement.

"Still," he said in a low voice.

Then, there was a pause, and the air crackled with electricity. It was the kind of electricity, the sexual heat, they always generated between one another. Never had either of them experienced this with another, and they each knew they never would.

Heaving a heavy sigh, unable to break their mutual gaze, it was Winona who finally spoke. "Why is it my desire for you will never die? And yet, if I was to give into it, I know we'll soon end up in the same hurtful, miserable place we always do."

"I'm not your enemy," he spoke softly, evenly, while maintaining their gaze.

"I know," she said, her eyes glistened. "Nor am I yours."

"Then, couldn't we be friends?" he asked, recalling his talks with Rachael.

"Friendly is not exactly what I feel for you," she said, searching his eyes. "You're torture for me. I can't live with you, and I can't live without you."

"And so, you run away," he asked with a gentility in his voice, searching her eyes in return. "Is that workin' for you? Because it doesn't work, at all, for me." His gaze became even more intense. "I'm tortured, too."

"Well, what else is there?" she asked, sounding resigned. "We've tried it both ways, and neither way works for me. And so, I stop thinking about you and me and try and concentrate on someone else for a change, on the baby." She shook her head. "But even that's no good."

"No, no," he spoke softly, continuing to engage her. "_This is good_. We need to talk about this." He bit into the side of his cheek. "This doesn't have to be an either/or situation."

"What are you trying to say?" she asked.

"I'm tryin' to say that my head is clear for the first time in a long time," he said. "I'm sayin' ... maybe we could think outside of the box. We're gonna be parents of this little baby girl for a long, long time."

"Yeah, there's that. And then, there's this thing where we can't keep our hands off each other," she stated the obvious. She took another sip of her iced water in an attempt to cool things off.

"Well, yeah," he smiled. "That thing kinda preceded our baby girl."

Then, she looked over at him and smiled back for the first time in a long, long time. "I love you. You know that."

"I know," he whispered. "And you know I love you, too." Then, he said, "That's good. It's good that Palmolive's parents love one another."

Crossing her arms protectively in front of her, she said, "Love's not supposed to hurt."

"No, it's not," he agreed.

"Raylan," she shifted the conversation. She had to shift the conversation, as it was becoming too familiar ... too serious. "I've given up all illusions that you and I can live together, happily ever after," she said. And then, she reached up, over the table, and tenderly brushed a strand of hair away from his eyes.

He swallowed hard, maintaining their gaze. "Maybe you could give up the illusion of us livin' apart, not speakin' to one another, too? There isn't any happiness in that scenario, either."

Crinkling her eyebrows, she said, "Well, yeah, but, I don't understand."

"You're not the one to blame here," he proceeded. "I've finally admitted to myself that I don't want to give up my job. I tried on that idea again, for a while, while I was on leave from the shootin' and again, while I took this time off to get my head screwed on straight. It honestly doesn't fit me. And you've said you'd never ask me to give up my job," he began, talking with his hands for emphasis. "But I do concede that my job is far too dangerous for you and our daughter to be around. And I hope you appreciate that it wasn't an easy conclusion for me to reach."

He gazed even deeper into her eyes to make sure he wasn't losing her. "So, what if ... we could live apart _and_ be happy? But not ... separate? I mean, it's not perfect, but I'm not happy livin' in the alternative. Are you?"

"No, I'm not. But I still don't understand." She hung onto his every word ... hoping he could find a way out of their recurring impasse. "Exactly what are you proposing?"

He then took her by the hand, and she allowed him to do it. "I'm proposin' that you and I live in separate places, and we still love one another. And we even see each other from time to time."

"You mean like a date?" she asked, trying not to sound skeptical at his simplistic suggestion.

He gave her hand a squeeze. "I mean like a date ... with the one and only love of my life ... but with no pressure. No guilt. No expectations."

She returned the squeeze. "You mean no feeling like shit the next morning for what we give into?" Maybe it wasn't so simplistic.

"Exactly." he smiled.

She returned the smile. "You mean like only when we both really want to?"

"Like when, and only when, we don't want just sex," he said.

"Like only when we both want to make love?" she nodded.

"Exactly," he answered with an honesty that felt good.

Moving in closer to him, she asked, "Like the way I feel about you, now?"

He slowly nodded. "Like the way I feel about you, now."

She wanted to lean in and kiss him, so badly. She wanted him to hold her in his arms. And yet, something was holding her back. She swallowed hard. "But how? Raylan, I need to protect my heart," she said, "especially now. I'm fine with the idea, in this moment. It's afterwards. I start thinking about the reality of being in love with a marshal. And then, I'm afraid all over again."

"I'm not gonna BS you anymore," he said, with great sincerity. "My job is a dangerous one, and we both know it. I can't promise you I'm never gonna get shot or injured on the job again. But I can promise I'll wear my vest and call for back-up. Not put myself is stupid situations." Then, he tilted his head. "You once said you can deal with anything from me but the silence. If you want to know somethin' ... anything ... just ask me."

She maintained her gaze and nodded.

"About your heart? I'm not gonna hurt your heart," he reassuringly said. "I love your heart."

"I've hurt yours, haven't I?" she asked, guilt seeping in. "I know I have." She bit her lower lip. "I don't want to, you know."

"Well, then why don't you stop doin' that?" he smiled.

He continued to gaze into her eyes ... not wanting to break the moment.

"Marry me, again, Winona," he whispered.

"Marry you and live happily ever after, apart?" she wriggled her nose. It sounded strange even saying it out loud.

He took in a deep breath, and then evenly said, "I told you, I have these benefits from my job that would pay for the birth, that would take care of you and the baby if anything ever does happen to me. Good benefits. These are the practical kinds of things parents talk about." And he brought her hand closer to him. "There is somebody else to consider here, other than ourselves. I'd bet you even your sister would attest to that."

Winona knew he was right about her sister. Gayle was all for Raylan taking financial responsibility for her and the baby, no matter how much Winona protested.

"And if you decide that anything more can come of it, I would not be opposed," his eyes became intense.

She mirrored his serious look. "But what if we try this and it doesn't work?" she asked, sounding as if she was honestly considering his proposal.

"Well," he spoke very softly and sincerely, and he reached over and gently traced his finger down the side of her face, "then, you divorce me again. I mean, you've divorced me once ... left me three times. I've got broad shoulders." And he smiled.

He wasn't mad. He wasn't hurt. He wasn't condescending.

She smiled, too, and let out a little laugh. "Oh, Raylan," she said, still laughing in complete surrender. "I can never stay mad at you."

"Then, don't," he said softly, continuing to smile. "Marry me, again, instead."

"Marry you and then, date you?" she smiled even bigger, where the corners of her eyes crinkled for the first time in a long, long time.

"Why not?" he shrugged, reflecting her smile. "We need to try somethin' different than we have been doin' ... if only for Palmolive's sake."

As their lasagna arrived, Winona gave his hand another squeeze. "Let me think about it, okay?"

(To be continued ...)


	11. Chapter 11

Title: A Change of Scenery (11/13)

Author: Romantique

Email: dolph1n

Classification: Raylan/Rachael Hurt/Comfort, Friendship

Rating: T

Summary: Raylan's inability to sleep reaches the breaking point. (Takes place after 'Fever Dreams' which is rated M for language and violence.)

Disclaimer: I wrote this fic immediately following the end of Season 3.

Legal: These characters do not belong to me. I'm just a fan and have not made a dime. Please email me to obtain permission to post.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Raylan stood outside Judge Mike Reardon's chambers, in the hallway of the Court House in Lexington. Standing with him were Art, Rachael, and Tim. It was after work on Friday, and the good Judge had agreed to arrange his schedule to marry Raylan and Winona at the end of the work day, so that all of Raylan's team from the Marshal Service could attend the civil service. Judge Reardon's clerk directed Raylan to sign some paperwork on a clipboard which included the marriage license. Art served as his witness.

After all the paperwork was completed, Raylan glanced up at the wall clock, down the hallway. He couldn't help but notice that Winona was late. Never good at waiting, he soon became fidgety and began to pace up and down the hall in an attempt to burn off his excess, nervous energy.

"You're not worried, are you?" Tim asked, knowing that, from her history with Raylan, if ever there was ever going to be a _'runaway bride,'_ it could very well be Winona.

Raylan shoved his hands into the pockets of the pants of his best navy suit and continued to pace. He answered Tim's question with one of his own. "Now, why should I be worried?"

Despite his bravado, Raylan wasn't doing a very good job of hiding his feelings. A small white boutonniere adorned Raylan's lapel, and he decided to forgo his hat for this solemn occasion. He suddenly felt silly, being all dressed up like this. Just as suddenly, he felt a twinge of foolishness for allowing himself to be put in this position with Winona, again. She could literally leave him there waiting at the Alter, looking like a chump. Then, he thought, no. She would never do that. Or would she? This was, after all, Winona. Then, the thought occurred to him: They should have driven to the Court House together. But no, Winona convinced him that her sister, Gayle, had to be there ... and that she should wait for her sister to drop her kids off at daycare.

With all these conflicting thoughts swirling through Raylan's mind, he let out a heavy sigh of frustration.

"Maybe she's just tryin' to rub it in a little," Art tried to make light of the situation. Leaning against the wall, he watched as his marshal paced back and forth in front of him. "You know, to remind you who the boss is, in this relationship?"

"Oh, she's the boss," Raylan raised his eyebrows and gave a nervous smile. "Always has been. She knows that. _Everyone_ knows that."

"I'm glad to learn that there is _someone_ out there who can boss you around," Rachael chided.

"Here, here!" Art chuckled, "Because I sure as hell can't."

"I'm so glad I can amuse you all," Raylan's eyes narrowed, as he responded in a condescending tone, "at my expense."

It was about that time that Gayle rounded the corner coming from the elevator. A very pregnant Winona walked about eight paces behind her sister. Winona was wearing a deep-blue, sleeveless silk sheath dress that perfectly set off the blue in her eyes. Her hair gently cascaded past her shoulders and around her face in soft, wavy tendrils. The mere sight of her literally took Raylan's breath away. When their eyes met, it was almost as if there was no one else but the two of them in that hallway. All Raylan's nervous feelings of being left at the Alter immediately dissipated.

Finally, Raylan glanced over at Rachael, who was holding a small white bouquet of fragrant jasmine, Winona's favorite. Raylan had bought the flowers for his bride, and Rachael handed the bouquet over to him. He walked over and took Winona's hands in his and placed the bouquet in hers. They never said a word and just smiled at one another.

Soon, the clerk reappeared and asked Winona to sign the same papers previously signed by her groom. Gail witnessed her signature on the marriage license, on the line next to Art's.

After Gail signed the license, she walked over to Raylan. In a low voice, she said, "Look, I know we've had our differences in the past." Then, she looked up sheepishly at him with eyes that were the same shape as her sister's, but were different in color. "I just want you to know that Winona had a long talk with me this week, and she explained a lot of things I didn't know."

Raylan stopped her right there. "You love your sister," he smiled down at her. "And I'm so glad you do and that you're here today."

Then, he opened up his arms and offered Gayle a big hug. She took him up on his offer.

"It's gonna be alright," he whispered into his former and almost future sister-in-law's ear. "We don't know how we're gonna make this work, but it's gonna be alright."

Gayle squeezed him tight around the shoulders. After all these years of knowing Raylan, Gayle honestly caught a glimpse of what Winona saw in him. It was obvious he loved her baby sister very, very much.

Then, he added, "You are gonna be a wonderful aunt to our little girl. And you're the pro here. Winona and I don't know much about little babies. We're gonna need you, Gayle. We're both gonna need you ... a lot."

"Thank you, Raylan." Winona's older sister truly was grateful. "I'm not going anywhere." Sure, Gayle had been protective of her sister during this hard time between her and Raylan. She felt somebody had to be in Winona's corner. But she felt pretty foolish after Winona explained everything. Gayle had no idea about Gary and the money and a lot of other things. How could she have known? Still she was grateful and genuinely impressed with Raylan's gentle sincerity on this day. It was a side of the lawman he didn't let show very often.

Then, he turned to speak to Winona. In a voice as slow and as smooth as an expensive Kentucky bourbon, he declared, "_You_ are absolutely stunnin'."

"You look real good, yourself," she smiled. Her blue eyes sparkled.

It was about that time the clerk opened the door to the Judge's chambers and waved everyone inside.

"You ready to do this again?" Raylan smiled at Winona and offered his crooked elbow to her.

"Yeah," she smiled, wrapping her arm around his. "I'm ready."

The clerk then motioned to everyone as to where to stand. Raylan and Winona were in the center, flanked on either side by Gayle and Art. Tim and Rachael took seats directly behind the bride and groom. A few moments later, the Judge entered the room from a side door. Everyone was relieved to find the Judge was wearing pants under his robe, something that was not to be taken lightly. Gayle was the only one in the room who was not aware of that particular issue that thankfully would be a non-issue on this day.

Winona handed her bouquet to her sister.

Judge Reardon shook his head and smiled at Raylan. "See? I told you if you'd wait and be patient, this one would return to you. Now, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did," Raylan answered, returning the smile.

It was then that the Judge first noticed Winona's very pregnant form. "It looks like this marriage couldn't have waited _much_ longer." Next, Judge Reardon turned his attention to his former Court Reporter. "Now you," he spoke in his firmest Judge voice. "This is a good man you've got here. Heck, if I wasn't heterosexual, I might marry Raylan myself. You need to lighten up and not give him such a hard time. You could go easier on yourself, too. Right?"

"I might lighten up ... a little," Winona smiled at her groom.

Then, Judge Reardon proceeded. "Since you two have done this before ... and with each other, no less ... let's dispense with all the flowery foo-foo and just cut to the chase. Join hands, please."

Raylan took Winona's hands into his, and they gazed into one another's sparkling eyes, smiling at one another with closed mouth smiles. These were the kind of smiles where they tried to contain their happiness during this solemn occasion, for fear they might burst. Their stifled smiles spilled over, all the way up their faces and into the corners of their eyes.

"Winona, do you take this man, Raylan, to be your lawfully wedded husband?" the Judge's voice slightly echoed.

"I do," she said, absolutely beaming.

"And do you, Raylan, take this woman, Winona, to be your lawfully wedded wife?" the Judge recited.

"I do," Raylan said, effortlessly emoting love through his eyes.

"Do you have the rings?" the Judge asked.

Art and Gayle each handed Raylan and Winona a ring.

"Winona, repeat after me and then, place the ring on Raylan's finger," the Judge began. "With this ring, I thee wed."

Winona repeated the, never breaking her gaze. Then, she slipped the platinum band on Raylan's left ring finger.

The Judge then gave the same instruction to Raylan, who repeated the line and slipped an antique diamond on her petite left hand.

Then, the Judge proclaimed, "By the authority granted to me by the Bluegrass State of Kentucky, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

There was a burst of applause in the room.

"Deputy Marshal Givens, you may kiss your bride," Judge Reardon proclaimed.

Raylan leaned forward, with Winona's growing baby bump between them, unable to passionately take his bride into his arms the way he did when they were married the first time. Instead, he kissed her tenderly, and she mirrored his kiss.

"Okay, that's enough. Get a room!" Tim dryly chided from his nearby seat, as he thought the decorum of the ceremony had already been somewhat compromised by the bride's fastly expanding situation.

Tim's remarks were just enough to break their kiss.

It was as this point in the ceremony that Judge Reardon then added with a smile, "Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, for the 2nd and hopefully the last time, Mr. and Mrs. Raylan Givens."

(To be continued . . .)


	12. Chapter 12

Title: A Change of Scenery (12/13)

Author: Romantique

Email: dolph1n

Classification: Raylan/Rachael Hurt/Comfort, Friendship

Rating: T for some language.

Summary: Raylan's inability to sleep reaches the breaking point. (Takes place after 'Fever Dreams' which is rated M for language and violence.)

Disclaimer: I wrote this fic immediately following the end of Season 3.

Legal: These characters do not belong to me. I'm just a fan and have not made a dime. Please email me to obtain permission to post.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Raylan opened the passenger door of his Town Car for his bride and then, helped lower Winona down into her seat.

Once they were on the road from the Court House, he looked over at her, reached across the seat, and took her left hand in his. "I didn't want to presume anything. But since this is our _'weddin' night,'_ I took the liberty of bookin' a suite over at the Hyatt Regency for a couple of nights."

"Are you askin' me if this is one of those times I really want to be with you?" she looked up at him, referring to their new,_ 'outside of the box' _marriage. "I could ask you the same thing. Do you really want to be with me right now? Because honestly? These days, I feel about a sexy as a cow."

He gave her hand a loving squeeze. "To answer your question; yes. This is one of those times I really want to be with you. I told you, you look absolutely stunnin' in that dress."

"We'll see how stunning you think I am when I get heartburn at midnight, like I do just about every night. Or when I have to keep my feet elevated because my ankles swell up to the size of an elephant's," she went on. "Oh, shit," she said looking down at her feet. "My feet are already starting to swell."

Very calmly he said, "You could move over here, closer to me, and put your feet up. This car is pretty roomy. We have some time before we arrive at the restaurant."

She smiled at him and unbuckled her seatbelt. Then, she scooted over towards him with her back angled to him, and raised her legs upon the car's seat. She then kicked her shoes off and further elevated her feet even higher by placing her heels upon the armrest of the car door. The coolness from the air conditioner shot through a vent and aimed directly towards her swollen feet and ankles. On this warm night, it felt good.

"Better?" Raylan asked, keeping his eyes on the road.

"Much," she smiled, wrapping her arms around his right arm, further leaning into him with her head resting on his shoulder.

With her hair in such close proximity, Raylan caught the unmistakable scent of lavender. It was her shampoo.

"Isn't it funny how things like songs or smells can bring you right back in time?" he lamented. "I can smell your shampoo," he said, eyes still on the road, gently kissing the top of her head. "I've missed that smell. It's lavender. I remember that much."

"I miss smelling you, too, sometimes," she said, breathing in his sandalwood aftershave. It was one she had given him for Christmas because she liked it on him so much. She was pleased he wore it on their wedding day.

"Only sometimes?" he asked. "Do I smell that bad at other times?"

"No," she smiled, amused at his question. "Not unless you've been on one of those long stake-outs, but you've long since learned to shower first before coming home from one of those." She hugged his arm a little tighter. "I'm talking about those times when I don't feel like I really want to be around you, like we've talked about."

"Like on a night you would not want to go out on a date with me?" he asked, trying to get her to zone into making her point.

"Well, yeah," she answered.

That didn't work. Raylan took in an even breath and decided to lay all his cards on the table. "Winona?" he asked gently. "Would you like to go out on a date with me? Tonight?"

Giving his arm a squeeze and then, a kiss, she laughed. "It's our wedding night, Raylan. Of course I want to go out on a date with you."

"Thank you," he smiled.

Then she quickly added, "But you do understand that after our date, I'm going back over to Gayle's."

"I do," he nodded. Not that he was complete happy about the arrangement, but the alternative was not an option for him.

After a moment of silence, Winona broke it. "Whatever happened with your bartender friend?"

"Who? Lindsey?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said. "Why? Are there others?"

"No," he let out a little laugh. "There are not others." Then, he explained, "I cooled it with her. We're just friends now. And I've since explained to her that, as you know, I am a serial dater. And that right now, I'd like to serial date my wife." Then, he leaned down and gave Winona's head another kiss. "She knows and respects that we're gettin' re-married."

"Good answer," she said and snuggled up against him even closer.

After another pause of silence, Raylan asked, "Winona? There isn't any way we could skip going to this dinner tonight, is there?"

"Well, no," she answered. "We really do have to go."

"Then, would you promise me one thing?" he turned to her. "Could we make sure we get our dessert to go?"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Gayle's contribution to her sister's re-marriage to Raylan was to make dinner reservations and arrangements at Malone's steak house, out on the patio, for a small after-nuptials celebration for the couple and Raylan's co-workers. She was, however, unable to attend the gathering, as her oldest boy had an out-of-town Little League ball game the next day which required an early morning road trip. It was a big deal, a semi-final championship game she explained to everyone ... that she was not merely blowing off the occasion.

As soon as Raylan parked his car, their remaining party met up at the entrance of the restaurant, and they were led to a corner table, outside in the warm evening air. A _'Reserved'_ card was placed on the table, and the waiter congratulated the bride and groom upon seating their party. He then offered them fresh strawberries with a choice of chilled champagne or a sparkling pear cider. Surprisingly, everyone ordered the cider. So surprised was Art, he leaned over and asked the waiter to bring him some of their top-drawer bourbon from the bar.

After everyone had a glass of the sparkling cider, Art raised his glass and offered a toast: "To Raylan and Winona. May the bumpy road that led you two to this special day, be paved with kindness and love and understandin' for one another. To a long and happy life together and with your little one who will soon be joinin' us."

"Here, here," Tim echoed, as the couple clinked their glasses with Art's, Tim's, and Rachael's.

"Thank you," Raylan nodded, immediately followed by a thank you from Winona.

Famished, Winona reached over and placed 3 large strawberries on a small plate beside her water glass. She devoured them and went in for more.

"When's the baby due, Winona?" Art asked, watching as she bit into yet another large berry.

Swallowing down the berry with a sip of water, she answered, "In 5 1/2 more weeks, give or take a little."

Baskets of bread were then placed on their table. Winona dug into one of the baskets and then, proceeded to pass it to Tim.

"Uh, that's okay," Tim said, wide-eyed, watching this otherwise petite little gal eat and eat. "You go right ahead and hang onto that."

"Don't give her a hard time," Rachael intervened on Winona's behalf. "She's eating for two, you know."

Winona nodded her head, her mouth full of sourdough bread. "That's right. I'm eating for two."

"Well, we'd like to do somethin' for you in terms of a gift," Art sat back in his chair, relaxed after ordering his second bourbon. "Why don't you let us know whether you'll need a crib or a car seat or whatever? Heck, today, I know most parents need two car seats, two strollers, two diaper bags ... with two cars and all."

"If you only knew," Winona said under her breath, as she rolled her eyes and stuffed another berry into her mouth. She was referring to their _'outside of the box'_ marriage.

About that time, the waiter arrived.

"It's about time. I am so hungry," Winona declared, as she proceeded to order several appetizers for everyone to share.

Then, they each placed their dinner orders. Raylan, Rachael, and Winona ordered grilled seafood, while Art and Tim ordered the Malone's special, the Porterhouse steak. Afterwards, Raylan encouraged Winona to put her feet up in his lap, mindful her ankles were swelling. She was touched by his attentiveness.

While waiting for their entrees, Winona continued to munch on an assortment of the appetizers she had ordered. The others had some too, but were mindful to make sure she went first. As usual, the guys' conversation turned to talking about work. It was if they couldn't help themselves.

Feeling a little perturbed with her male co-workers, Rachael turned to Winona. "So how does it feel to be married?"

Appreciative of the small talk, Winona answered, "Well, this is the second time for us. It's different being pregnant and all, too ... takes a little of the romance out of the equation, if you know what I mean." She then leaned over and added, "I want to thank you so much for what you've done for Raylan. He seems so much calmer and, as he says, clearer than he was before he made these changes in his life. He's more like the Raylan I knew when I first met him, years ago. And it's really easy for me to forgo alcohol and a lot of the junk food because I'm trying to take good care of myself and the baby."

"You're welcome," Rachael said. "We were worried about him for a while, but he wanted to make some changes. It's a matter of getting back to the basics that we all got away from for the sake of saving time and for convenience," Rachael nodded.

"Well, yeah, that and the drinking," she agreed and expanded. "He was relying on alcohol too much to help him get to sleep. He admits it. The other big change I've noticed is that he's talking more. For someone who can spin a yarn a mile long, Raylan can be closed-off when it comes to expressing his feelings."

Rachael nodded again. She couldn't help but wonder if Winona knew what she learned when she worked with Raylan in Arizona. Something told Rachael that she did not.

Winona continued. "I'm glad he feels like he can talk to you and Tim or to Art. Sometimes, I'm not the right person to listen to some of the work stuff that y'all deal with," Winona was now becoming more relaxed and freer, talking with her hands. "I think that he thinks I wouldn't understand. And on some things, he may be right."

Taking a sip of her iced tea, Rachael shared, "We see a lot of ugly on the job that most people don't have to see. It can be tough to process. You know that you don't have to deal with Raylan alone, right? You have us to talk to if you're ever concerned about anything. We really do have to have one another's backs. In our line of work, it's a necessity and not an option."

"Thank you," Winona smiled. She couldn't help but notice that things felt different with the marshals. For the first time since Raylan returned to Kentucky, they seemed more like a brotherhood, only they were accepting her into the fold. At least Rachael and Art had made an effort. She observed that Tim remained cool in temperament, fast with the quips. But she could also tell that he held a lot of respect for her husband.

About that time, the entrees arrived.

"This dinner is to celebrate Raylan and Winona's wedding day," Rachael politely reminded her male co-workers. "Perhaps we could shelf the shop talk for the rest of the evening?"

Raylan looked over at his bride. He placed his hand over her leg, as her feet remained elevated in his lap. "Sorry about the work chit-chat. It's a habit."

Much to his delight, she playfully teased his crotch with her toes and smiled. "What work chit-chat?"

The two floated through dinner, distracted by the other. And they did, indeed, order their dessert to go.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

After Raylan opened the door with the card key, he bent down and scooped up Winona into his arms and proceeded to carry her over the threshold.

"Raylan!" Winona laughed, surprised and completely caught off guard. "You don't have to this, this time."

"Sure I do," he laughed, as he placed her feet down on the ground, well inside the suite. When he proceeded to stand up to kiss her, a muscle in his lower back began to grab. He winced.

"What's wrong?" she asked when she saw the pained look on his face. She knew him like a book.

"Nothin," he lied, trying to breathe easy but unable to stand upright.

"Raylan," she looked at him, suddenly standing offensively with her hands on her hips. "Don't lie to me on our wedding night. It's bad luck."

He let out a sigh and closed his eyes, his hand clamped over his lower back.

She raised an eyebrow of concern. "You hurt yourself, didn't you, trying to carry my fat ass through the door?"

"I pulled somethin'," he admitted. "I'm sure it's nothin'. And, by the way, your ass is not fat. You're all baby."

"I've gained almost 40 pounds and still counting," she reported. "And that is not all the baby," she corrected him. "While I appreciate the romantic nature of your gesture, your lower back wasn't expecting the extra poundage when you decided to pick me up."

Still unable to straighten up, he said, "This is just a minor blip on the radar."

Deciding to snap into concerned wife mode, something she had experience in doing, she said, "Let me take a look." And she tugged at his shirt, pulling the tail out of the back of his trousers and lifted up his t-shirt. "Wow. I can see the muscle spasm."

"Yeah?" he asked, feeling pain with each contraction of the muscle.

"What do you want to do? You want to go to the ER?" she asked.

"For a pulled muscle?" he asked. "Seems kinda overkill. I think I'm supposed to ice it. You know, alternate cold with heat."

He tried to take a step, and the muscle tightened up into a hard mass. "Shit," he cried.

"Now, it sounds like my honeymoon," she quipped. She could be funny. "You know what I think?" she asked. Not really wanting an answer, she said, "I think we should have you looked at while you can still move. I mean, it is after all _my_ wedding night. Otherwise, it doesn't look like I'm going to get any action anytime soon until somebody fixes you up."

Raylan shook his head and looked up at her with a little smile on his face. "Seein' as how I'm in no _'position'_ to argue," he joked with his play on words, "I'm agreeable to anything you say."

She smiled at him. "You mean _'anything?'_ she played along, totally endeared to him. "Let's go, cowboy. Let's get you fixed up, pronto."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Several hours later, the rerun newlyweds returned to their suite. Raylan was upright and moving ... walking on air and as high as a kite, as he had been given an injection of a muscle relaxer in the ER. The injection made him sleepy. He flipped on the light switch, and Winona walked ahead of him and turned down the bed so that he could literally fall in.

She pulled his boots off. He was out like a light.

A short time later, there was a knock at the door. Room service arrived with a little snack Winona ordered when they had passed the front desk, along with an ice pack and a heating pad. Raylan was really out. He didn't even hear that anyone had come into their room.

After Winona signed for the room service, she sat at the table and poured herself some of the ginger mint tea that was on the cart. It had been recommended for the queasiness that went along with her pregnancy. She proceeded to dive into the large piece of angel food cake and strawberries. Never mind she had eaten her crème Brule and Raylan's chocolate torte only a few hours before, while waiting in the ER. She was craving strawberries.

Their hotel suite was absolutely beautiful. This was the first chance she'd had to really take a good look at it. And it smelled so nice. It was then she noticed a fragrant arrangement of three dozen, long-stemmed roses next to her on the table. She reached over, opened the envelope and read the card.

_"Winona, you are the only woman in the world for me. Thank you for marrying me, again, outside of the box. Always, my love. Raylan."_

She smiled. Her heart was warm. Her husband did a great job in booking a really nice, romantic place for their wedding night. Then, she looked over at the man she couldn't live with, yet couldn't live without. There he was, passed out with his clothes on ... on his side with his back turned to her. For better or worse, there was no denying that she still loved that man.

She went into the bathroom and changed into a pretty nude maternity nightgown she bought for her wedding night. Then, she tried out some of the lotions provided by the four-star hotel. She then went to the table where she had been served room service and picked up the icepack and dimmed the lights.

She placed the pack on Raylan's lower back, between him and the mattress. She even grabbed an extra pillow and used it as a wedge to hold the pack in place. When, she crawled into bed on the other side, Raylan stirred. He stretched out his arm for her, the way he had done hundreds of times before when they were together. She backed into him, so that he was spooning her.

With his eyes closed, he whispered, "I'm sorry about your weddin' night. I'll make it up to you."

Suddenly exhausted, Winona took his arm and wrapped it around her and snuggled into him. "Night, Raylan. I love you."

He sleepily kissed the back of her head. "I love you," he mumbled, holding her tighter, content with the feel and the smell of her.

Winona experienced the same contentment. For her and their baby, to be once again lying in his strong, familiar arms was something she was afraid she'd never experience again. This was heaven. Drifting off to sleep with the man she loved. This was the perfect, second wedding night.

_(To be continued ...)_

A/N: My apologies, but the next chapter will be rated M. I didn't know it would be rated M until I wrote it.


	13. Chapter 13

Title: A Change of Scenery (13/13)

Author: Romantique

Email: dolph1n

Classification: Raylan/Rachael Hurt/Comfort, Friendship

Rating: M for sexual content. Let's do it.

Summary: Raylan's inability to sleep reaches the breaking point. (Takes place after 'Fever Dreams' which is rated M for language and violence.)

Disclaimer: I wrote this fic immediately following the end of Season 3.

Legal: These characters do not belong to me. I'm just a fan and have not made a dime. Please email me to obtain permission to post.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The early sunlit rays of dawn shone through the plantation shutters of the hotel suite. Winona woke to find Raylan still molded to her back. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand nearest her. It was early. When she stirred, so did he. He tightened his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. With his eyes still closed, he kissed her bare shoulder.

"Good mornin', Mrs. Givens," he growled into her ear, followed by a nibble on her neck.

"Good morning," she smiled. She could feel his excitement between them and continued, "You seem to be feeling better." Then, she said, "I need to get up and go to the bathroom. Sorry, cowboy, but a pregnant lady's bladder cannot be put on hold."

She climbed out of the bed and went to take care of her urgent business. Awhile later, she returned to bed and to her previous position of spooning with her husband. What she found was that since she'd been gone, Raylan had freed himself of all his clothing. He then gently lifted the hem of her pretty new gown up, over her hips and was pleased to find she wasn't wearing panties, allowing him easy access. It also told him that she had given some thought to and anticipation of this moment. Slowly, he began to move from behind her, the intensity of his desire growing more and more apparent by the minute. He teased her entrance with torturously slow and deliberate movements, and he continued until she began letting out delicious little moans of pleasure. He then gently tested with his finger tip and found that was ready and waiting for him. With that, he slowly pushed his way inside her with a focused intention.

Winona's moaned a little louder, and her breathing quickened. "Are you sure you're okay to do this?" She was referring to the pulled muscle in his back, and she hoped that he was.

"I won't be doin' any gymnastics," he was breathing harder. "But yeah, I've got this." And he proceeded to move his hands up to her very full, pregnant breasts that he had been longing to touch for months. He then allowed himself the time to fall into a rhythm.

Wanting more of him, Winona drew her knees up, offering him complete access to her. The slight change in position allowed him to thrust into her, even more deeply. Her pelvis moved as well and began to counter his thrusts, until she eventually matched each one of his strokes in speed and intensity, extending the length of their movements and increasing their pleasure.

Driven by need, he then slowly pushed forward until he was all the way inside her, and she let out another, sudden moan of pleasure. He remained there, very still for a moment. Her internal muscles encircled him, pulsing against his sensitive nerve endings and bringing him closer to the brink, yet all the while ... urging him to continue. He slowly pulled back his full length and then pushed forward again until he completely filled her. He slowly repeated this movement again and again. Their bodies were made for each other, were perfect for each other. No one fit him better than her. Each one of his forward strokes was met with more pulsating squeezes around him, and each was followed by her sweet moaning. Then suddenly, on each outward stroke, she began to beg him over and over again not to stop.

Breathing heavily into her ear, he soon found that he was moaning as well, and he continued on his grinding path to the inevitable. He gently squeezed her very ample breasts on his next forward stroke. Her tight, pulsing muscles massaged his entire length, as his desire continued to build and build.

"My God," he suddenly whispered, when he felt her climax in waves, all around his length.

She held on tight to his arms that were wrapped around her and let out an uncontrolled, low animal wail. Then, her body began to spasm from the inside out. The release was explosive, and that was all it took to bring him right along with her, over the edge. All he had to do at this point was to hold on tight for the ride. And he lowered his head into her shoulders, closed his eyes, and held her tight. He then held her hips close to his groin, as his pent up molten release came in a series of seizing jolts of electricity, followed by his own, guttural moan.

Hearts pounding, breathing heavily, and gleaming with perspiration, the couple clung to one another, still joined together as one. They clung to and experienced every second of their afterglow in the early morning of their first day again as _'man and wife.'_ The intensity of their lovemaking was something neither one could recall, ever experiencing before, nor would ever soon forget. It was like their already combustible chemistry was taken to the next level.

Their fingers were entwined as eventually, heart and breathing rates returned to normal. Winona shifted her weight so that she was lying on her back and then, she turned to face him. They gazed silently into one another's eyes for a time. There was a mirrored, close-mouthed smile. Then, Winona traced her husband's mouth with the tip of her finger, and leaned in for a kiss ... a tender, loving kiss.

She finally spoke. "I have never experienced anything like that before, in my life. That was incredible." Then, she tentatively asked, "Did you experience what I did?"

He searched her eyes with his own, gently stroking her long hair with his fingertips. "Yeah," he finally was able to speak. "And no, I've never experienced anything that intense before."

She reached up and pulled her night gown over her head. She wanted to lie naked with full skin to skin contact with her husband.

Raylan then gently placed his hands over the top of her basketball shaped abdomen that glowed in the rays of sunlight which were now shining through. It was the first time he had seen her abdomen bare and in all of its pregnant glory, along with her full, pregnant breasts. "You are absolutely gorgeous," he exclaimed. "Pregnancy agrees with you. You've never looked sexier to me."

She smiled at his sincerity that was as clear as the look on his face.

Then, he asked, "How's Palmolive doin' after that earthquake of an orgasm?"

"She's definitely awake," Winona smiled. Without breaking their gaze, she took Raylan's right hand and moved it lower towards her pelvis and further to the right. Then, she gently pressed his hand into her abdomen with her hand on top.

"Wow," Raylan's face lit up into an even bigger smile. "She's kicking! I can feel her." Then, suddenly, the look on his face turned to one of concern. "Do you think we woke her up?"

Winona laughed. Raylan was serious. "Well, if we did, it's not like she has to get up and go to work ... or anything like that. She can go back to sleep." Then, she reached over and kissed Raylan gently on the lips. "Besides, it's a good thing her Momma and Daddy want to make love."

He looked at her in amazement. "Are you ready for more?" He had heard about pregnant women being more randy than non-pregnant women.

"No, I'm totally satisfied," she assured him, "for now. I'm content to lie here with you while we order some Room Service."

Not surprisingly, she was hungry.

Raylan stroked her hair some more. "Good because I'm totally satiated and can't move, don't want to move." Then, after a beat, he added, "But I don't ever want to go that long again and not be able to make love to you. That was too long."

He then reached over and lightly placed his hands around Winona's face and gazed intensely into her eyes. Very gently and lovingly he pleaded, "Winona, please don't leave me, again. Promise me you won't ever leave me again?"

Touched, her blue eyes teared. "I promise. But you have to promise you won't ever leave me, either, Raylan Givens. Promise?"

He let out a sigh, as his eyes became teary as well. "Honey, all I can do is to promise you I will do my best to protect myself, by the book. Not put myself in dangerous situations without backup or protective gear. And I do promise you and Palmolive that. And I will."

Winona knew this was the best he could give her, and that it didn't mean he didn't love her and their little girl. He had changed. She had to believe he had changed.

She nodded and leaned in to kiss him. This time, it was a full on, passionate kiss that did not lead to more lovemaking, but rather ... to more love. Raylan then cradled her in his arms for a time. Then, he reached over and handed her the telephone, where she proceeded to call Room Service and order practically one of everything on the breakfast menu.

_Fin-_

A/N: Thanks for hanging in with me on this one. I'd like to pick up another installment sometime in the nearer future ... Something about Raylan and 'adventures in child care.' But first, there is another 'Justified' fic that is calling me to write it.

My apologies for the M rating on this final chapter ... but I felt Raylan and Winona deserved it.


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